


here's to the fall

by traitorhero



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: 31 Days of Fugue Feast, Dishonored 2 speculation, F/F, F/M, Fugue Feast in July, High Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, spoilers for Knife of Dunwall and Brigmore Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 52,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4250781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traitorhero/pseuds/traitorhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>31 Days of Fugue Feast prompts.</p><p>Each chapter can be read separately, and each one has prompt/pairings/warnings listed in the notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When all the world is gathered for the final feast...

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [I found forgiveness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325406) by [Beckett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckett/pseuds/Beckett)



> Day 1: Gristol (Through the eyes of The Outsider)

There was something special about this place, these scattered islands that managed to survive and prosper in an uncaring world. Even with the advancements that they made, however,  nothing would survive when the end came and the Void swallowed the world.

He wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to that time or not.

Boredom would eventually decide that for him, he supposed. Centuries would pass before he would reach that moment. A millennium perhaps, if such interesting people continued to be born. He would watch them from the Void, seeing the paths that they would not and could not take, the choices that they made when he gifted them his Mark.

Two had already fallen within a short time of another. Delilah, the artist who had taken the Mark and then covered it with vines and flowers; whose soul had come screaming into the Void as her body disintegrated into the very fabric of it. Daud seemed tired from the work, but he burned brighter in the weave of the world than he had in years. But he could see the end of his thread coming. Or perhaps it wouldn’t.

It all came down to what Corvo decided, after all.

The former Lord Protector had already killed one of his Marked, cutting the Royal Interrogator down like a rabid wolfhound. He had given Morris his Mark to see what Vera would do. It had been interesting to watch the woman descend into a fevered state of mind, her jealousy at her apprentice being given an equal access to the deity she worshipped.

Eventually she had turned the young man out, and he picked his way to the cages of Coldridge Prison. The guards there feared him, which had made Morris happy. None of them had come into his domain and seen the shrine he had built. Much like the newly christened Granny Rags, his obeisance grew tiring.

And Corvo had slain him. It had always been a possibility, especially when his chosen went against one another. He couldn’t find it in himself to care, even as he watched Corvo slide his blade between Morris’ ribs. What surprised him was the apology that had fallen from the Lord Protector’s lips. He had watched with interest as Corvo had taken the drapes from the shrine and used them to cover Morris’ corpse. It was a reverence of it’s own kind, and one he didn’t fully understand.

Unlike the men he worked against (and for, because they might hide the truth from Corvo, but he is a deity and he knows the secrets of their hearts), Corvo didn’t kill unless he was forced to. It’s one of the reasons why he can’t wait to see what happens when he and Daud meet for the first time as equals.

Hmm. Expectation was different.

The Outsider forced himself into a corporeal body as Corvo picked up the rune Morris had placed so reverently on his shrine. The masked man doesn’t jump as he had the first time he had appeared to him at one of these shrines. Instead, he paid half-attention to what was said, his eyes roaming to the sides looking for enemies to appear out of the stone.

Vanishing back into the Void, he contemplated the final words he said to Corvo. They were true, which surprised him. He expected Corvo to make a show of it, to entertain him as he had not been in an age. The corners of his lips turned upwards slightly as the Void showed him Corvo sparing the Lord Regent, a man who didn’t know who and what he was dealing with when he dreamed of a plague wiping out the poor.

A very good show indeed.


	2. words of innocence and broken pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wasn’t allowed a razor,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Beards, Prisons, and Bad First Impressions

Samuel made no comment on it, for which Corvo was grateful. The older man looked troubled when he drove the boat, and Corvo caught him looking at him as if he had never seen him before. Something Corvo was rather sure was true, since it was doubtful they had run in similar circles even before he had been selected as Lord Protector. A few times his eyes strayed to Corvo’s jaw, and the uneven patches of hair that were there.

He clasped his hands tighter in his lap, fighting the urge to reach up and rub his chin. It had been the style since Jessamine’s ascension to the throne for men to be clean shaven. She had joked in their private refuge that the ladies of the realm had seen his face without whiskers and had forced their husbands shave themselves as well.

_“You liked when I had a beard,” he had teased her._

_“Only because it made you look like a dashing rogue,” she had replied, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “And there were downsides to it.”_

_“None that I can remember,” he whispered into her ear._

_“Well, you didn’t have to stand in front of your father the next day with chapped thighs,” she said, swatting his shoulder playfully._

The boat slapping lightly against the dock shook him out of his memories. As Samuel directed him towards the Hounds Pit Pub, he finally gave in and ran his hand across his face, trying to make himself seem a little more put together, as befitting a Lord Protector - former Lord Protector, he reminded himself silently.

The prison garments he was wearing, drier than they had been when he was climbing through the sewers, were probably not the best things to wear when meeting these so-called Loyalists. Given the fact that he had just escaped from what was considered the most secure prison in the Isles, he hoped that they wouldn’t hold it against him. After all, they wanted his help, if what Samuel had told him was true.

He couldn’t help his eyes darting from side to side as he walked across the open yard. He was half expecting all of this to be a ploy by the Lord Regent to seemingly prove his guilt once and for all. Even as he rested his hand on the gilted doorknob, he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder one last time. Samuel gave him a small nod as he met his eyes. Corvo turned back to the door, trying to calm the faint tremor in his hands.

The men standing around drinking whiskey out of cloudy tumblers didn’t seem to notice him, caught up in their own discussion. As they turned to a discussion of him, and of his former job, he almost slipped out the door again. Before he could do so, he ran into a young woman, her hair covered by a cap.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, not even looking him in the eye. The altercation caught the attention of the so-called Admiral and his compatriot, both of them coming over to see what the problem was. The woman scuttled back into the hallway, the edges of a bright blush on her cheeks.

“We don’t give handouts, here,” the Admiral’s friend said, turning up his nose at Corvo’s state of dress.

“I seem to recall that I was asked to come here,” Corvo said in reply, raising his eyes to meet the man’s. His face was familiar, but in a sense that he knew the man’s family, rather than the man himself.

“Corvo?” the Admiral asked, surprise coloring his features.

“Yes, Admiral -”

“Admiral Farley Havelock,” he introduced himself. “Or rather, former Admiral. And this is Lord Treavor Pendleton.”

Corvo gave them each a short nod, the hair on the back of his neck bristling as they looked him over. It was obvious from the way they lingered on his clothes and his face that he was not what they were anticipating.

“You look quite a bit different than what I was expecting,” Pendleton said. Corvo could almost hear the doubt in his voice.

“I wasn’t allowed a razor,” he said. “The guards were afraid of me as it was, since I apparently killed the Empress. And the Lord Regent thought he wouldn’t get his confession if I slit my own throat.”

Pendleton seemed taken aback at the vitriol in his voice. He looked to Havelock, whose gaze had turned appraising. He gave Corvo a small smile, similar to what the guards would give to their hounds when the dogs whined. The part of him that still clung to his tattered honor rankled at the look, but he didn’t allow it to show on his face. Years of training and working alongside Jessamine had given him that much, at least.

“Well, I’m sure you would prefer to have our discussion once you’ve cleaned up a bit, eh?” Havelock said. “Cecelia can lead you to your room. I’ll send Lydia up with some fresh water and clothes.”

“My thanks,” Corvo said, giving him a small nod.

“Cecelia, girl, stop hiding in the hallway and lead the Lord Protector to his rooms,” Havelock said, raising his voice slightly.

The girl he ran into before stepped into the doorway, her green eyes meeting his before they ducked down to the floor again. She made a half-aborted bow and gestured for him to follow her. Cecelia was silent as she led him to the attic room, and she scurried away before he could thank her.

There was a small vanity next to the bed. Taking a deep breath, Corvo walked towards it, peering into the polished metal. It wasn’t silver like the ones that graced the halls of Dunwall Tower, but it reflected well enough. Like the rest of the attic room it showed signs of being recently cleaned.

He leaned in closer, a hand coming to his jaw as he moved his face from side to side. The left side of his face was worse off than the right, the singed hair crackling under his fingers. A shudder ripped through him as he remembered the red hot iron poker stopping just before it touched his face. The torturer had chuckled, a wheezy sound that seemed to get stuck halfway through his chest. He had pulled back at an order from Burrows, but the light in his eyes promised that it would be worse when he returned.

“You all right there, my lord?”

Corvo turned around quickly, his breath rushing out of him as he spied another woman at the entrance to his room. To her benefit, she didn’t seem surprised by his startled appearance, waiting just a few moments before stepping into the room proper. She set a bowl of steaming water by his bedside, taking some garments that were draped over her arm and settling them on the sheets. Picking a piece of lint that was invisible to his eyes off of it, she picked up the bowl again, neatly stepping around him to put it on the vanity. She reached into the pocket of her apron and withdrew a straight razor and leather strop, placing them beside the bowl.

“You’re... Lydia?” Corvo asked, as she turned to walk out. She turned back and gave him a small curtsy, a piece of hair falling out of her bun. She raised a hand and placed it behind her ear, giving him a hard, but honest, smile.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Thank you,” Corvo told her. She seemed surprised, but quickly covered it with a sharp nod.

“If you want a bath there’s one just two floors down. Anything else, just holler and someone will come up.”

She left before he could thank her again, and he turned back to face the mirror, now slightly fogged by the heat of the water beneath it. Skills he had learned as a younger man seemed to come back to him, as he picked up the razor and strop, and set about keening the edge. As he finished, he opened up a few of the drawers, finding a smaller bowl and brush, as well a lathering soap. Mixing the soap up to a fine lather, he spread it across his jaw and neck, before picking up the razor again.

His hand shook slightly as he pressed it lightly against his cheek, but he made the first pass across his face easily enough. Rubbing his fingers lightly over his chin, he felt the edge of stubble still there, and drew the razor lightly across again. The hair over his lip was easier to take care of. As he looked for a towel to dry his face off and saw none, he drew his ragged shirt over his head and used it to clean himself up.

He looked in the mirror again, seeing himself again for the first time. Without the beard he looked more haggard, the hair having hidden the gauntness of his face. It hadn’t been a priority to feed the prisoners, and some days he was lucky to get a moldy apple. The torture that Burrows had inflicted on him had mainly been contained to his torso, but the nightmares that had come over him while he slept in the tiny prison cell had made the skin under his eyes a livid purple.

Shaking off the dark thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him, a few pieces of hair slipped down next to his face. He gathered it up, is his head turning to the side to better grab it all. It hung heavy in his hands, and he picked up the razor. Setting it against the greasy brown locks, he debated for a moment with what to do. Corvo sighed, and let go of the hair. He picked up his old shirt and cut a strip from it, using it to tie his hair back at the back of his neck in a low tail.

It was short work for him to get to the bathing chamber that Lydia had described. Cecelia had been sweeping outside of it. Her eyes had widened when she saw his bare chest and the half-healed scars that crisscrossed it, before they dropped to the floor again. The new clothes sat on the edge of the sink as he soaked in hot water for the first time in months. By the time he got out of the water and put on his new clothes, he almost felt like he had six months ago.

Cecelia had moved on by the time he left the bathing chamber, and so he left the prison garments next to the tub, confident that they would be thrown out whenever the room was next cleaned. Going down the staircase to the pub proper, he was surprised to see Havelock and Pendleton still there, this time huddled together in a booth. Both men were nursing new glasses, but put them down as soon as he caught their attention with a cough.

“And I thought I didn’t recognize you before,” Pendleton said, his eyes looking over Corvo as if he saw a new man. “Given access to facilities, however, and you look your station.”

“I aim to please,” Corvo said, doing his best not to grit his teeth at the remarks. There had been worse when Jessamine had chosen him, a Serkonan, as her Lord Protector.

“I admit, I was worried when you first came in,” Havelock said. “But now, I think we can pull off what we’re planning.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

As Havelock explained, Corvo nodded. When he put forth the speculation that Emily was still alive, just confined somewhere, Corvo had to stop himself from leaving the building to find her himself. Instead he nodded, his mind spiraling to what had happened to her in the months she had been taken from him. When Havelock offered his hand in a deal he took it.

If they would help him find Emily, he would do anything.


	3. not the man I want to see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he could survive six more minutes, he'd live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Overseers

When the Admiral proposed a toast, the back corner of his mind whispered that he shouldn’t trust him. But Martin raised his glass along with Treavor, taking a small sip and watching his conspirator over the rim of the glass. Treavor downed the entire glass, his eyes tightening slightly at the edges as the whiskey burned down his throat. The other man had been inebriated in some way or form ever since they left the Hound Pits Pub, and the toast wasn’t the first drink he had since coming to Kingsparrow Island.

Havelock was staring at him intently, and tipping his glass towards the new Lord Regent, Martin took another drink. He set the empty glass on the table, raising an eyebrow and waiting for Havelock to call his bluff. Havelock set his own glass, still full, at the head of the table, his eyes watching both of them. Treavor reached for the glass, and Havelock passed it to him without comment. Martin settled back in his chair, resting his arms on the table. His eyes flicked to Treavor as he downed Havelock’s share of the liquor as well.

“And so to traitors,” Martin said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Havelock inclined his head to him slightly.

“You know why.”

“Know why what?” Treavor asked, his words slurring together. Martin shook his head slightly, a modicum of pity bubbling in his gut for the doomed man. Or perhaps it was the poison that Havelock had added to the whiskey.

“Our dear Lord Regent has outmaneuvered us both, my Lord Pendleton,” Martin said, with a rueful chuckle. “He’s seen the view from the top and doesn’t care to share it with anyone else.”

“What do you mean,” Pendleton asked, coughing slightly. He shook his head slightly, blinking his eyes rapidly in an attempt to clear them.

Martin rolled his shoulders as a his stomach roiled, acid jumping up his throat. He cleared his throat, pulling out a handkerchief and spitting some that had entered his mouth into it. Bright red blood mixed in with yellow bile stained the white fabric. He tossed it onto the center of the table for Treavor to see.

“I don’t understand,” Treavor said. Before he could say anything else, Treavor leaned over the side of his chair and vomited onto the floor. Before he could lift himself back up to a sitting position, he spasmed. His hand flailed across the table, knocking both of the glasses off onto the floor, shattering the with a crash. He let out a rattle, the air escaping his lungs in a rush.

Martin shook his head , grimacing as the movement made his head swim. Havelock had opened another bottle of whiskey, pouring it into a fresh glass. He looked at Treavor’s corpse and took a deep breath before drinking some of his whiskey. As he looked over towards Martin, he seemed surprised that the man was still alive.

“Come now, Havelock,” Martin said, chuckling slightly. The laugh turned into a cough as more blood and bile entered his throat. “Treavor had more than his share. You can’t expect me to go as quickly.”

“I expected it to go quicker, I admit,” he agreed. “But you always were a stubborn bastard.”

“Well played, Admiral,” Martin replied.

He closed his eyes, letting his head slump forward. He started to take slower breaths, his chest barely rising. Havelock took a loud drink, the ice in his glass rattling. Martin took another breath, hoping that the former Admiral wouldn’t notice. He heard the heels of Havelock’s boots against the floor, and allowed himself to let out the air.

The blood that dripped from his mouth gave him an idea of what Havelock had given him. It was a common poison for unhappy wives, and had gained popularity in the early years of the rat plague. As the plague had gotten worse it had been used less often by anyone, since anyone who had that amount of blood from the mouth was declared a Weeper. Their families were often sentenced to the same places that their bodies were stashed, spreading the plague even more as they sought to escape.

If he could survive six more minutes, he’d survive. While Havelock had admired him for his mind and his ability to plan how and who to send Corvo after, he hadn’t paid much attention to what everyone else said about him. How they whispered about his past, with the rumors about his involvement with a witch, his time as a highwayman and a soldier, even about his becoming an Overseer. A few of them were even true.

The witch hadn’t been a witch, but a rather smart young woman who had gone to join the Oracular Order, outside of his reach. He had been upset at her loss, but kept in touch with the odd letter. She had been the first to congratulate him on his ascension to High Overseer, her letter smelling of sea salt and the peat of Morley. He had penned a letter back before they had left for Kingsparrow Island, thanking her, and asking her to keep him in her mind. It was unlikely that they would ever meet again, but he had hoped the letters would continue.

Fingers on his neck made him jerk slightly. A hiss of air next to his ear made him crack open his eyes. The horrid mask Pietro had made stared back at him, the glass of the eyes moving slightly as he turned his head to face it. Corvo hadn’t made a pastime of killing men, but Martin was sure that he had done enough to piss the man off. Kidnapping his daughter and trying to kill him would engender hate as well as anything.

“There will be a reckoning,” Corvo said, his words an echoing hiss through his mask.

Martin forced a huff of air through his nose, unsurprised when he felt blood trickle down across his lips. Corvo removed his fingers and stood, going to confront Havelock. Martin took another shallow breath, aware of how close he had come to dying before the poison took him. He closed his eyes, counting down the last two minutes until he was free.


	4. a debt for you and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The footsteps were heavier than what he was expecting, but everyone had to start somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Serkonos
> 
> Warnings/Notes: This is taking place at roughly the time of Dishonored 2. As no one knows what is going to happen in that game at this time, be prepared for this to be highly AU when the game comes out.

"Retirement," Thomas told him, "doesn't suit you well."

Daud snorted his disbelief as he tossed the younger man a pouch of coins. He grabbed it out of the air without trouble, and gave Daud a short salute before traversing away. A surprising number of his Whalers had followed him to his self-imposed exile in Serkonos. Thomas and the kids he had picked up from the streets were unsurprising, but a few of the former mercenaries had as well. The ones that hadn’t occasionally checked in, sharing stories about what was going on around the Empire. They saw through his attempts to stop them, giving him the information that he craved even though he had nothing to do with it.

He hadn’t let his appreciation show too much, even though Thomas was always willing to rib him about it. The boy had gotten more comfortable with him over the last fifteen years, and didn’t think twice about offering his own comments about the tidbits that the Whalers brought in. While he hadn’t expected Thomas to be his second as Billie had been, the man had grown into his role.

When he reappeared in the study ten minutes after he had left, his hair askew and breathing hard, Daud knew there was something wrong. He stood immediately, tossing the book he had been reading aside and striding over to his second. Thomas grasped his arms and tightened his grip slightly before releasing, letting Daud know that he was all right as he caught his breath. A tolling of bells began to ring out, the sound cutting short a few short seconds after it had begun.

“The Empress-” he managed to spit out, bending over to breathe deeply.

“Emily Kaldwin?” Daud asked. “What of her?”

“They’re saying she killed the Duke,” Thomas told him. “Luca Abele is calling for her head.”

“She’s the Empress,” Daud said, waving it away. “If she had him killed, I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“She didn’t have him killed,” Thomas replied. “They’re saying _she_ killed him.”

“Then she’ll make some concessions to the new Duke and it’ll be done with,” he said. “It’s not the first time the nobility have killed one another.”

“They’re also saying that the Duke’s men have taken the Lord Protector into custody.”

That got his attention. Daud rubbed a hand across his mouth, his thoughts racing.

“He should have been able to get away,” he mused. “Where were they?”

“The Duke’s mansion,” Thomas said. “The one overlooking the sea.”

“And the young Empress? Where is she?”

“No one knows. Someone let slip that she dove into the sea rather than letting the soldiers take her.”

He turned away from Thomas, his eyes going to the windows. Smoke was rising from the edge of town, most likely the slums. The young Empress Kaldwin was popular among the poor, the tales of how what she had done for the poor of Dunwall during the early years of her reign overblown as they crossed the sea. It was more likely that her advisors had been the ones to make things turn out as they did, but they had been smart in giving the laurels to their young empress.

As he continued to stare out the window the world seemed to warp, the glass reflecting floating stone instead of showing late summer sunlight. Daud kept his back to the room, straightening his shoulders as the chill of the deepest parts of the ocean sank into the room.

**_“I wonder what you will do now,”_** the Outsider said. **_“An Empire sinking to it’s knees, and you’re present to see it happen again.”_**

“Was this you?” Daud asked, turning around to face the black eyed deity. The Outsider smirked, walking closer to him. Daud forced himself to keep facing the whale god, rather than to check to see that his own two feet were standing on solid ground.

_**“I wonder if you’ll help them,”** _ he said, instead of answering Daud’s question. **_“Or will she use your guilt against you, to force you to help her.”_**

“Answer the question, you black eyed bastard,” Daud said, his ire rising.

The Outsider had left him alone for the last fifteen years, for the most part. Occasionally, when the urge to run through the night and explore became too much, he would stumble upon shrines to the deity. The small comments the Outsider made were just short of mocking, and though Daud had taken his Whaler’s ribbing about his retirement with good will, he wouldn’t take it from the black eyed man.

The Outsider’s smile widened slightly, the edges of his teeth sharpening incrementally. Daud did his best not to let the savageness that overtook the deity’s expression shake him. A mournful whale call seemed to snap the Outsider back to his normal expression of slight interest. Rather than leave him with any more information, the bastard dematerialized, the world returning to the green and brown shades of his study.

“Daud?” Thomas asked, a hand resting on his shoulder. He shook his head slightly, staving off the question as he strode over to his desk. He shuffled a few of the papers around, letting out a sigh as he did so.

“How many Whalers are still in Karnaca?” he asked.

“Twenty, at the moment,” Thomas answered immediately. If he was confused about the question, he didn’t let it show in his voice.

“How many others would be able to get here within a month’s time?”

“We could strengthen our numbers to fifty, easily. Did something happen, sir? You seemed out of it for a moment.”

“Our black eyed _friend_ ,” he sneered the word, “decided to pay a visit. Something’s happening. I want my people here for when the shit hits the fan.”

“I’ll let them know,” Thomas said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, holding back a question.

“What is it Thomas?”

“The houses to either side are empty,” Thomas told him. “Do you want me to put some of the Whalers there?”

“Not too many,” Daud conceded. “The last time we were all together it made it too easy for an enemy to attack us. Tell them to start setting up safe houses, if they haven’t already. We need to be prepared for anything.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And, Thomas,” Daud asked. The younger man hesitated, waiting for the order. “Leave all but the most basic traps off when you leave. I’m expecting company.”

Thomas gave him a short nod, disappearing with a gust of wind. Daud went over to his shelf, picking up a book and taking it over to his desk. He laid it over the top of the papers that covered the top. As the sun dipped below the horizon he lit a lamp, letting it throw most of the room into shadow. A few clicks on his desk let him know that someone had entered his home, disarming most of the traps but missing some of the alarms.

The footsteps were heavier than what he was expecting, but everyone had to start somewhere. The person who had snuck into his study had been smart enough not to let the door click shut, but the slight intake of air as he looked right at her was unacceptable. Daud closed his book, standing and snapping a switch next to his desk. The room was flooded with light, and the young woman crouched by the door flinched, her eyes narrowing as she tried to adjust.

“You missed two alarms,” he told the young empress, “but you disabled my most basic traps, which should be applauded, I suppose.”

Emily Kaldwin looked at him shrewdly, her eyes taking in his finely made shirt and breeches. The tension in her body didn’t ease, but she rose from her crouch with a grace that most fighters would envy. Daud took the time to look her over as much as she did him.

Her clothes, finer than his by a multitude, were wrinkled and seemed to hang off her frame in odd ways. He took a breath in through his nose, noting the scent of seawater and sewers that seemed to cling to her. Her hair was slicked close to her head as well, barely held in place by a clip. A familiar collapsed sword was hooked onto her belt, and he saw her right hand flicker towards it for a moment.

A piece of what looked like a scarf was wrapped around her left hand, and Daud swore under his breath. He strode over and grabbed her hand before she could stop him, tugging the makeshift bandage off to reveal the Outsider’s Mark on the back of her hand, matching where her father had his. He dropped her hand as she pulled away, letting out a series of vile curses against the Outsider under his breath.

“Who are you?” she asked, quickly wrapping the scarf around her hand again.

“Don’t you think you should have thought of that before you broke into my house?” Daud replied, rubbing his gloved hand through his hair.

“Corvo told me of a few places that I could go to if anything happened while we were here,” Emily said. “He never told me why I should. Just that I’d be safe. This is the first one where someone was home.”

“You break into people’s homes often, then, Empress?” Daud asked. Emily flinched, but held his gaze.

“When I’m running for my life, yes,” she told him. Daud tilted his head slightly in concession.

“Corvo told you where to find me?”

“He said he’s been keeping track of someone,” Emily clarified. “He never told me who, or why.”

“And you trusted him?”

“Corvo saved me when other men thought to use me to their own ends,” she said. “I trust him.”

“And you let your father do as he wishes in the name of safety,” Daud said, waiting to see what her reaction was when he said it. Her shoulders straightened minutely and the corners of her mouth turned down, but both could be taken, in high society at least, as annoyance at the question. Daud, who had seen the way Corvo had cradled the late Empress’ head while she died, saw it differently.

“In this case his worries proved valid,” Emily replied, neatly sidestepping what he had said. “You obviously know who I am, but you haven’t introduced yourself.”

“Your father and I were acquainted,” Daud said. “He obviously trusted me more than I imagined if he told you to find me.”

“He told me to find Daud before he shoved me off a balcony,” she said, an edge of annoyance creeping into her voice. “So, you’re either him, or I need to leave.”

“If I wasn’t, you’d have lingered too long,” Daud acquiesced, gesturing for her to take one of the chairs around his study. She took it, relaxing slightly as he took one across from her. “I could have been stalling until the Grand Guard got here.”

“I’m sure that you wouldn’t have liked them traipsing through your home.”

“Serkonos was my boyhood home,” he told her. “I’ve been living here for the last fifteen years quite contentedly. Most people know me as that quiet old man who lives with his grandson.”

“Grandson?”

Daud waved away her disbelief. “It’s a useful subterfuge. Be assured, however, that you were welcome here.”

“And if I hadn’t been?”

“You’re not as good as your father, Your Majesty,” Daud said, fingers coming up to massage his temples. “If I had the more sensible security measures in place, you would have died as soon as you entered through the attic.”

“How lucky of me.”

“Hardly. A certain black eyed friend of ours stopped by and dropped some hints that someone was coming.”

“The Outsider.”

“Black eyed bastard’s playing again,” Daud agreed, tugging his glove off enough to show her the mark on his palm. Her shoulders relaxed even more, and she dropped her head back onto the cushions. “Now, I can get you passage back to Dunwall. Once you get there you should be able to apply enough pressure to get your precious Lord Protector released.”

“I’m not leaving Corvo here,” Emily said, her tone cold. “And I’m not risking travelling to Dunwall.”

“Dunwall would be the safest place-”

“I have enough evidence to suggest that there’s been a coup,” Emily said with a merciless laugh. “If it’s extended to Dunwall there’s no way to be sure that I won’t be taken captive as soon I step foot there.”

“And you’d end up being a figurehead or dead,” Daud said, easily following her train of thought.

“Precisely,” she agreed. “I know what Burrows and Havelock planned for me when I was a girl, Daud. I am no one’s figurehead.”

“Outside of getting you to Gristol, I don’t know what other help I could offer you.”

“Did you know that I remember the man who killed my mother?” she asked him. A sliver of ice sunk into his heart at the careless way she said it. “Corvo told me to tell my advisors that they were all masked, and I never found out who they were. And I did, because he told me that the man who did it felt remorse.” Her dark eyes held his with ease. “An assassin who felt remorse. Strange, isn’t it?”

“We live in strange times.”

“I know,” Emily said, sitting up and leaning forward. “Corvo said you owed me a life, Daud. Whether he meant my mother’s life or your own is of no consequence to me now.”

“You want something,” Daud said plainly.

“Corvo trained me well enough,” she told him. “He made sure that I could defend myself with a blade. But he would never teach me the things that he used to save me when I was a girl. I need you to teach me that.”

“It takes years to become an assassin, Your Majesty,” he replied. “You have considerably less than that.”

“You said I was good enough to get past your most basic traps,” she countered. “Surely you can work with that.”

Daud felt the flickering pulls of his Whalers coming inside his house. He sighed and stood, turning around in time to see Thomas flicker into view. The young man’s eyes widened as he spied Emily over Daud’s shoulder. His eyes snapped to Daud’s as the latter cleared his throat.

“Set up a training set in the house to the left,” he told him. “And tell the others that we’ve a guest to be set up in the room beside mine.”

“Of course, sir,” Thomas said. His eyes flickered to Emily again before he vanished.

Daud turned around, and was surprised to see the furrowed brow of the young empress. She rose before he could retake his seat, her eyes on her left hand.

“It’s different for everyone, then?” she asked, raising her hand slightly to indicate what she was talking about. Daud nodded.

“My Whalers have powers similar to mine because their powers are linked to mine.”

“Corvo does the vanishing trick as well,” she told him. “I... can’t do that.”

“Well, we have enough time to discover what you can and can’t do in the morning,” Daud said. “There’s a bath chamber down the hall. I’ll have one of my people leave some clothes outside the door for you.”

“Then you agree?”

“As you’ve said, I owe you,” Daud said. “But my reasons for helping you will remain my own.Rest assured that you’ll be wishing you never asked for my tutelage, Your Majesty.”

“Emily,” she corrected him, raising her chin slightly. “I’m not quite sure I have a throne anymore.”

When he nodded his acceptance of the deal, she turned on her heel and left the room. Daud turned and walked to his desk, shutting off the light and bathing the room in darkness. The reflection that stared back at him from the window was older, with a black hair streaked through with grey. And yet, he felt something stirring under his breast, a sense of excitement that he hadn’t felt for over two decades. He turned away and walked out of the study.

The face in the window made a terrible grin before vanishing.


	5. a pendant on the neck of a queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despair and disgust warred for dominance as he reached and plucked out her heart, the tendons and tissues that connected it tearing away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Ladies, Ladies, Ladies
> 
> Warnings: Body Horror/And I Must Scream elements. We're dealing with the Heart here, people. It's not pretty, and definitely not what the character wants. Also a bit of mindfuckery by the Outsider on the Heart. If any of that squicks you, might want to skip this one.

She was growing tired of dealing with the Royal Spymaster. Hiram had been harping at her for months, even before she sent Corvo to the other islands, and had only increased his demands as time went on. Jessamine crossed her arms, turning to stare out across the bay. Corvo’s ship had docked a short while ago, and Emily had run off to meet him. While her daughter had never been told, she gravitated to her father, and she had missed him greatly while he was gone.

Jessamine couldn’t say that she didn’t feel the same. An ill wind seemed to blow over Dunwall these days, the rat plague sweeping through the slums the least of her problems. The nobles were content to bide the plague in their mansions, not seeing how it was only a matter of time before one of their staff took sick and spread the illness to them.

The ladies Boyle had thrown a fête, supposedly in her honor, two nights previously. She had begged off attendance with a lie that Emily had been feeling ill, and had instead spent the night in her secret room writing a letter to Corvo. The next day they had received word that the ship she had sent Corvo on had been spotted, but was being held by the blockade. She had penned a quick letter to let them enter, and had received word that they would be let through on the morrow.

“They’re sick people, not criminals,” she reminded Hiram, a little of her distress creeping into her voice. By the Void, she wanted nothing more for the man to go away and let her await her Lord Protector’s arrival.

“We’ve gone beyond that question, Your Majesty,” he replied. “They are-”

“They’re my citizens,” she said, slicing her hand through the air to forestall any more of his argument. “We will save them from the plague if we can. All of them.”

“Very well,” her Spymaster said, his annoyance only apparent through his tone.

Out of the corner of her eye Jessamine saw Emily run up behind her. Her daughter reminded her of her own days as a child, before her father had been elevated to Emperor and she made his heir. Some of the nobles had scoffed at the way she let Emily have her childhood, rather than forcing her to learn the ways of the Court. There were some lessons that she had taught her, however, and Emily stood silently as she waited to be acknowledged.

“We will not speak of this again,” she told Hiram.

He gave her a slight bow and backed away, giving her a moment to compose her face for her daughter. She turned and gave her daughter a small smile, and the girl answered it with a bright one of her own.

“Mother, Corvo’s back,” she said, bouncing on her toes.

“Thank you, Emily,” she said, her voice cool because of Hiram’s presence.

The man seemed content to stay where he was, which irked her to no end. This was supposed to be the reunion of her family, and he had no place in it. She raised an eyebrow at the calculating look on his face, but he replaced it with a courtier’s mask before she could decipher it.

“Leave us, please,” she asked, her voice a touch kinder.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

He bowed from the waist and left, stopping for a moment to talk with Corvo, who had stopped just outside the veranda. She watched Hiram go, his back straight and stiff. His fingers laced and unlaced behind his back, as if he was nervous about something. Emily placed a hand on her arm, and she pushed the matter aside.

“Tell Corvo to teach me how to climb,” Emily pleaded.

Jessamine placed her hand on top of her daughter’s head and bent down to look her in the eye. “And why would you want to learn that?”

“I want to climb to the top of the tower! Annaliese said that you and Corvo did it when you were younger.”

“Annaliese told you that?” Jessamine asked, a fond smile on her lips. The woman had been in their household since before her father’s coronation, and knew all of the things that Jessamine had gotten up to in her youth. When Emily continued to look at her hopefully, she dropped her hand to her chin, tipping it up slightly. “Maybe we’ll start on something smaller before you climb the tower.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” she agreed, straightening as Corvo approached them.

His hair was shaggier than she knew he liked, covering the tops of his ears. He had taken the time to shave, which probably meant that he had gone without doing so on the voyage. His eyes were warm as he cast a furtive glance around the pavilion. Jessamine extended her hand, knowing what he would attempt if she didn’t stop him. A roguish grin crossed his face as he bent over and pressed his lips to her knuckles, holding it for a moment past propriety.

“It’s a fair wind that brings you home to me,” she said, knowing that a light blush was crossing her face. Even after all these years, he could still undo her with the simplest things. “What news have you brought?”

Corvo straightened and pulled a sealed letter from his jacket. She scanned the contents and let it fall from her hands, turning to face the waterfront again.

“I had hoped that one of the other cities had dealt with this before, that they might know of some cure,” she admitted to him. “This news is very bad.”

“The Grand Duke sent his apologies, and said that you would know what he was going to do,” Corvo said. Her shoulders slumped lower.

“Cowards,” she said. “They’re going to blockade us. They’ll wait to see if the plague turns this city into a graveyard.”

“Are you okay, Mother?” Emily asked, stepping up and grabbing onto her arm. “You seem sad.”

“Yes, don’t worry darling,” Jessamine reassured her. Emily stepped closer, and she wound her arm around her daughter. Once Emily couldn’t see her expression, she gave Corvo a tight smile. As she looked past him her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, turning to follow her gaze.

“Where are the guards? Did someone send them away?”

“Mother, what are they doing on the rooftops?”

Emily’s innocent question drew both of their eyes. The masked men disappeared, then reappeared on the pavilion, their swords drawn. Corvo had his out and stepped in front of them, guarding them as one of the men charged. Jessamine herded Emily back, covering her eyes to hide the brutal sight of Corvo’s defense. It wasn’t the first time that they had been attacked, but it was the first time that Emily would be able to remember. The last body fell, disappearing before it even finished.

Emily ran out from behind her, throwing her arms around her father. He laid a sympathetic hand on her back, but his eyes met hers. He tilted his head to the side, encouraging her to move towards the entrance of the pavilion.

“Thank you, Corvo,” she said, reaching for Emily. “If you hadn’t been there-”

Another assassin appeared on the veranda, thrusting his hand towards Corvo. Jessamine grabbed for Emily as Corvo was lifted into the air. He struggled against it, but whatever black magics the assassin was using rendered him helpless.

“Mommy!” Emily cried. Emily’s hand was ripped from hers as an unmasked man pulled her daughter away from her.

“No, get away from her!” Jessamine snarled, pushing the man away.

His hand cracked against her jaw, forcing her back against the pavilion fence. She shook her head, dazed from the blow. Before she could regain her senses, he grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look over his shoulder. She felt something slide through her, and she gasped as he pulled out his sword, the blade glistening red.

“Mommy! Corvo!” Emily shouted again.

Her cry was cut off, and Jessamine lifted her eyes, terrified that the assassins had killed her daughter as well. But only Corvo was left, pushing himself to his feet. He stumbled at the sight of her, rushing to kneel beside her. He lifted her head, pillowing her head on his lap.

“Find Emily,” she gasped. He shook his head, tears falling down his face. “Protect her. You’re the only one...” She shivered, the dull pain of her wound fading, and with it, her grasp on consciousness. “Promise me.”

“I swear I’ll find her,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Jessamine smiled, her eyes closing without her consent.

Everything didn’t end, as she had expected it to. She didn’t feel the marble of the pavilion under her cheek, but this wasn’t what she expected the cessation of existence to be like. Focusing, she opened her eyes to a field of blue, interspersed with broken streets and lamps. Jessamine tried to look around, to look at herself. But her hands wouldn’t respond to her, and her legs wouldn’t move.

_**“Now, now,”**_ a voice like breaking waves said, _**“we can’t have that.”**_

Jessamine blinked, and wondered where she was. It wasn’t familiar, but it was calming. The blue light reflecting off the purple lights was beautiful, casting shadows against half a wall that stood on a street. A young man stood over a corpse, studying it as if it could answer a question he didn’t know the answers to. He waved his hand, and she moved towards him, stopping just beside his shoulder, and looked down on the body.

Her eyes were closed, and her lips stood out a bright red compared to the pallor of her skin. A splash of blood had trickled down from the corner of her mouth, running down her neck to stain the white collar of her suit. The young man hummed, the noise like the whale singing she had once heard while travelling at sea.

_**“He’s not like Daud,”**_ the man said. His hand reached out and pressed against the skin of her throat, as if he was looking for a pulse. _**“But would he listen to your counsel, I wonder?”**_

“Who?” Jessamine asked, tired of being ignored. She tried to touch the man, but her hands wouldn’t move and she couldn’t touch him. She tried to close her eyes, and found that she couldn’t. She felt as if her breath should have hitched in fear, but there was nothing stopping her from taking in air. If she was at all.

_**“Stop that,”**_ he said. He turned to face her, his black eyes meeting hers with ease. She immediately felt calmer, though now she knew that this man was making her feel this way. Jessamine fought against the compulsion, but the depths of the man’s gaze made her will slip away.

Jessamine looked down on her body as the Outsider began to strip away her clothes. He set them on a pedestal that seemed to appear out of thin air. The jagged red gash that ripped through her sternum caught her attention, and the Outsider ran his fingers along it, admiring it as if it was a form of grotesque art.

_**“Daud is usually cleaner than this,”**_ he said, chuckling in amusement. _**“But he left me what I needed unharmed, so I suppose he’s earned another gift.”**_

As she watched, he placed both of his hands alongside the wound, his fingers sinking into the bloodied tissue. With a loud crack, her chest was open before him. Despair and disgust warred for dominance as he reached and plucked out her heart, the tendons and tissues that connected it tearing away. He held it like a piece of meat, turning it slightly so that the blood caught the purple light, turning it black.

“What are you doing?” she asked. His head tilted slightly at her question.

_**“He will assault an empire to fulfill your final wish,”**_ he said. _**“But it would be so much more interesting if he had something that tempered him. Or drove him insane.”**_

“Corvo? You’re talking about Corvo?”

The Outsider ignored her again, moving across the room to where some tool lay. He picked up a few and began to piece them into the heart. Helpless to stop him, Jessamine watched as he continued his work. A thump made her entire being, formless though it was. When it happened again, she felt herself moving, falling into a darkness that was wrong, too tight for what it was supposed to be. She should have been bigger.

Jessamine screamed.

_**“Silence,”**_ the Outsider commanded. Jessamine stopped, her voice gone. She could see him, but he was murky, as if she was looking at him from underwater.

“What have you done to me?” she asked. It was a great effort for her to speak, the words coming out weary.

_**“Forget,”**_ he said, instead of answering. _**“Jessamine Kaldwin is dead. You are the Heart of a Living Thing, crafted by my hands.”**_

Jessamine tried to fight his demand, and when she could not, she buried it deep within herself. As she did so, she felt the beating of the Heart that enclosed her slow, then stop altogether. Her thoughts became less distinct, even as the Outsider picked her up. Jessamine let herself drift as much as she was able, the blue of the Void a mockery of the calm she was denied.


	6. gutterchild adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had to wonder if the masked man knew what he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: A Safe Place (aka let's throw Geoff Curnow in the trash)

The smell of Dunwall’s sewers and muck was one that Geoff knew well. And the man in front of him stunk of it. If he looked closely enough, he could see the mud and water that dripped off his hem. The masked man was staring at him, his sword held loosely in his hand, but made no attempt to come after him.

Granted, he had sent the two men he was patrolling with into unconsciousness with no trouble. And they were unconscious, the masked man courteous enough to let him check them over. Geoff had pulled two darts from the back of each man’s neck, and, against the rules and regulations that had been drilled into him, tossed them to the other man. He had grabbed them out of the air easily, tucking them into a pouch on his belt.

“I never got to thank you,” Geoff said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The masked man seemed to straighten, his sword folding up to be attached to his belt. “For saving me, I mean. I saw what you did to the High Overseer. You could have done the same to me, tied up a loose end.”

“A friend asked a favor.”

His voice wasn’t what Geoff had been expecting. A slight hiss accompanied the words, as if the mask filtered his words. Then again, considering what he had shown himself able to do, perhaps it was for the best his voice was disguised. There was no telling what the Lord Regent would do to someone who had ousted one of the supporters of his regency.

He had to wonder if the masked man knew what he was doing. The Empire might be able to carry on without worry, but Dunwall was barely clinging to the edges of humanity. The number of dead was rising, and with the other islands blockading them, it was only a matter of time before the plague overran them. Geoff had always been an honest man, even to himself. There was little hope, especially after the death of the Empress, that Dunwall would survive this.

“Must be a close friend, then,” he said, fishing for information. The masked man let out a wheezing sound, which Geoff recognized a moment late was a laugh.

“Not particularly,” the masked man said. He lifted his hand to his hood, dropping it back to his waist when he felt the fabric. The motion was familiar, though Geoff couldn’t place it. “But they were right. You’re a good man.”

“The Lord Regent doesn’t agree with you on that,” Geoff said. He let out a long sigh, rolling his neck. The masked man’s eyes adjusted, the glass catching the light and confirming another thing for him. Glass of that quality was expensive. Whoever was backing him had money.

“That’s why he’s got you patrolling outside the Cat,” the man said, catching on quickly. Geoff nodded, snorting as one of his men began to snore.

“The ladies of the Cat are important to his hold on the city, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“The nobles would riot without their,” he paused, as if searching for the correct word, “ _entertainment_.”

“Yes,” Geoff agreed. He eyed the masked man’s clothes, something about them catching on the edge of his memory. “Why are you here?”

The man seemed to consider him for a few moments, before glancing at the two men on the ground. He straightened his shoulders and nodded to himself, his breath hissing out of the mask as he reached up and removed it. The man blinked quickly, stepping away from the mouth of the alley to tug down his hood.

Geoff felt his jaw click open as he looked at the man who had saved his life. Corvo fidgeted in the shadows, clipping the mask onto his belt beside the sword. His hair was longer than when Geoff had last seen him, and there were a few new scars on his face. Corvo seemed older, and tired, but his lips were set in a tight line as he waited for Geoff to say anything.

“You’re alive,” he managed to say.

“It was a close thing.”

“We thought you were dead,” Geoff continued. “Everyone thought the breakout at Coldridge was to cover the fact that they’d had you killed.”

Corvo shrugged, as if his supposed death was of no mind. “Some friends rescued me.”

“The same friends who asked you to save me?”

“Not exactly,” Corvo admitted. His hands reached up to play with one of the charms that decorated the front of his jacket. “That one was a personal favor, not professional. They didn’t need to worry, however. I would have done it anyway.”

Geoff nodded, his eyes flitting to the mouth of the alley. It was unlikely that any of the other patrols would come through this route, but if they did it wouldn’t do for him to be seen with a known traitor to the realm. No matter how false he thought the accusations were.

“Why are you here, _Corvo_?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper on his name.

“Swear to me that this will never leave your lips?” Corvo asked.

“On my life.”

“Emily’s here,” Corvo said.

“She’s been missing for months,” Geoff argued. “Outsider’s eyes, she’s all but been declared dead!”

“Who do you think ordered Jessamine’s death?” Corvo asked, his voice deceptively calm. There was a faint tremor in it, though Geoff couldn’t place if it was hate or grief. “Who has gained the most from Jessamine’s death? Who would be in charge until Emily came of age?”

“The _Lord Regent_?” Geoff whispered.

Geoff shook his head, but the pieces fell into place easily with what Corvo said. The man had all but been ruling the Empire since the Empress’ death. The Kaldwin’s had family throughout the Isles, and no doubt there was an aunt or uncle that would serve as Emily’s regent until she entered her majority. Burrows claim to the title was weak, especially if Emily surfaced by another’s hand. But if he plucked her out of wherever she was hidden, no one would question the supposed savior of the young Empress.

“You’re going to rescue her?”

“Yes,” Corvo said simply. “I promised Jessamine I would save her.”

“Go,” Geoff said, waving his hand insistently. “Save your girl.”

Corvo started slightly at his words, and Geoff chalked up that theory as truth. It had been something that circulated every so often, but no one had been able to verify it. Corvo, for his part, recovered quickly, snapping his mask back on and drawing his hood. He pulled a small crossbow off of his belt, nocking another bolt with a practiced motion. Before Geoff could react, he fired it.

Geoff felt the dart hit his neck. Reaching up, he pulled it out of his neck, his vision clouding. His legs collapsed underneath him, but hands caught him before he could hit the ground. Corvo’s breath hissed in his ear as the other man picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

“Bastard,” he slurred. He felt the other man’s chuckle as the world drew in close, his vision going dark.

“Captain Curnow! Sir!”

Geoff blinked, the world drawing into focus again. His men stood over him, concern in their faces. He moved to sit up, only for his hand to sink into a mushy pile. He looked at where Corvo stashed him, and resisted the urge to curse the man. Instead, he settled for a litany of curses as he shook the muck off his hand.

Only a man who swam in sewage would consider a trash bin a good place to stash someone.


	7. anchor of your sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wouldn’t go and see her with blood dripping from his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: AU (a different Kaldwin dies)
> 
> (takes place in High Chaos)

He heard Jessamine’s anguished cry as the assassin dropped him. His head hit the marble of the pavilion with a crack he felt though his entire body. A sword clattered to the ground, and he heard a man swear before the world seemed to realign. Corvo pushed himself to his knees, wincing as his head throbbed, his eyes searching for Jessamine and Emily.

Jessamine sat against a pillar, Emily bundled in her arms. Corvo crawled over to them, not trusting his feet to hold him. Sitting next to them, he tried to figure out what had driven Jessamine to tears. He reached over to take her hand from Emily’s back, only to jerk backwards when he felt the wetness that covered it. Corvo looked at his own hand, the red blood that covered it, and the white dress that Emily had been wearing. The center of it was black, with red spiraling outwards even as Jessamine tried to stem the flow.

“No,” Corvo whispered, moving Emily’s head from where it was crushed to Jessamine’s chest. Brown eyes stared, sightless, at him, and he felt his heart drop from his chest. A breath rattled from between his daughter’s lips, and she raised her head.

 _“You cannot save her,”_ the corpse hissed. _“You cannot save her. You cannot save her. You cannot save her. You cannot save her.”_

Corvo jerked awake, catching himself before he fell out of bed. Rubbing a hand over his face, he checked on Jessamine to make sure that he had not awoken her. The fading sunlight threw shadows over her face, making it appear softer than it had in six months. Jessamine had been changed by what happened. He could say the same about himself, but his changes weren’t as obvious to most people. Behind the spotlight that was on Jessamine, he could let the shadows overwhelm him.

Tucking the covers of his blankets around her, he went to his chest. The first thing to greet him when he opened it his black mask, a gift from a man who now worked with the Royal Physician on a cure for the plague. He set it aside, and instead pulled on the jacket and leggings below it. Corvo frowned as he spied dried blood on one of the cuffs. Tugging at it, he tried to remember which of the Pendleton brothers had gotten it on him. He had knocked Custis out the window, watching as he dashed his brains against the rocks below his room. Morgan had died in the Steam room, but he had gone in to make sure that he was dead. Perhaps the blood had transferred during that.

Shaking their deaths from his mind, he buckled his sword and crossbow to his belt. A third item, one he didn’t care to think about, went in a pouch across his chest. He picked up his mask, but a small voice from the bed drew his attention.

“Going out again?” Jessamine asked, rising against the pillows.

“Yes,” Corvo said. He walked over and took a seat beside her, holding out a hand. Jessamine laid hers in it, her fingers tightening around his own.

“Are you close?” she asked. Corvo nodded, watching as she drew his hand up to her mouth. She turned it to press a kiss to his knuckles, her other hand coming up to keep it in place. Her eyes traced the heretical mark on the back of his hand, and she released him.

“We almost have him, Jessamine,” he told her. “If tonight-”

“Don’t tell me,” she reminded him. Corvo gave her a small smile, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “And the assassin?”

“I don’t know,” Corvo admitted. “Whoever he was, he was a professional. No one’s been able to find anything on him.”

He didn’t tell her about the men in whaling masks who had been following him. Men he had killed as soon as he knew they were there. They were a part of the reason his daughter died, and they had done it for coin. How much had his daughter’s life been worth to them? The thought had plagued him ever since Emily’s death.

“He has to die,” Jessamine told him. Her voice had grown colder as she said it. For an instant, Corvo could see her as the nobility now did; a ruthless woman who wouldn’t let anything stand in her way.

“I promise he will,” Corvo said. “Rest, Jessamine. I’ll return in the morning.”

“I’ll be gone.”

“Then I’ll visit you in your chambers.”

That charmed a smile out of her. She smacked his chest lightly as he got up. Leaning down, he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. Jessamine laid back down, her eyes fluttering closed. Corvo walked out of his room as quietly as possible, and headed down the back stairs.

Curnow was waiting for him at the bottom. He gave him a quick salute, and fell in line beside him. It was a companionable silence, and neither man needed to say anything to the other. Geoff had joined his crusade a few months after Emily’s death, taking a position in the Empress’ Guard at Corvo’s recommendation. The man’s only condition for joining him had been a promise that High Overseer Campbell would die.

Corvo didn’t know the exact details, but his niece’s death had been a blow to the man, just as Emily’s had been to him. A few of the more fervent Overseers had accused her of being a witch, and had killed her without a trial. Her belongings had been seized, and Geoff hadn’t been able to collect the body, instead being told that it had been incinerated and the ashes scattered.

He had been easily convinced to act as a decoy, letting the High Overseer lure him into a room by himself. What Campbell hadn’t known was that Corvo was there as well. The next morning the High Overseer’s body had been found hanging outside the Abbey, a crossbow bolt embedded in his throat and forehead. Geoff had stood by him ever since, giving him an alibi whenever he went out on one of his missions.

“I’ll be visiting Emily for a few hours,” he told Curnow. The other man nodded, even as they turned down a little known path that would take them to the waterfront. “If you could stand outside her tomb and discourage anyone from visiting me, I would be most thankful.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Curnow said. “Shall I head there now?”

“Perhaps wait awhile,” Corvo amended, looking at the fading light. “I had a horrible nightmare while I was sleeping. It makes sense for me to visit her later.”

“Very good.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Geoff took a position beside it. He tipped his head to Corvo as the he went out onto the small jetty. The boatman, a man named Samuel who Corvo had found while combing the streets for any leads on Emily’s assassins, nodded to him. He flicked his cigarette into the waters of the bay as he got in. The boat started with a roar as Corvo sat behind him, cruising towards the Estate District.

“Good luck, sir,” Samuel said, docking on a disused jetty outside the Boyle Mansion.

Corvo said nothing, as always, snapping on his mask and diving overboard into the water. He had been able to obtain some blueprints for the mansion, and knew that there was a passage from the channel to the cellars below. A nice way to receive deliveries, and, for him, an easier way to enter without having to kill the guards. More and more of the men were falling to the rat plague, and he didn’t need to add to the strain.

Before a hagfish could bite him, he took control of it, using it to swim through the grate. Once inside he let it go, wringing the worst of the water out of his outfit. He wasn’t planning on staying where people could see him for long, but they would be more likely remember him if he dripped water all over the place. Then again, knowing the frivolous nobles, they would commend him on his costume.

It was a simple matter to sneak into the party itself, and easier still to convince Esma Boyle to ask him upstairs to her room. His gut churned with revulsion at the way she offered herself to him, but he nodded his acceptance when she offered to be tied to the bed. After she stuck her head out into the hall outside the bedroom and let the guard know that she would be playing, she walked back over and let him tie her securely to the bed.

“I haven’t done this in quite a long time,” she told him as he walked up beside the bed. “My last lover was more... antiquated.”

“The Royal Spymaster?”

“Hiram, yes,” she said, wiggling on the bed. “Then he just broke it off after the Kaldwin heiress died. Such a shame. The man had a wonderful tongue.”

“What did you do for him?” Corvo asked, drawing his blade and resting it lightly against Esma’s thigh.

“Lots of things,” Esma replied. “He always enjoyed this thing I did with my breasts. Of course, it doesn’t quite work in this position, but I’m sure we could try.”

“Like your support in trying to declare Jessamine unfit for rule after Lady Emily’s death?”

That got her attention, even more than the blade that was pressing insistently on the inside of her thigh. “How would you know about that?” she asked, all the teasing gone out of her voice. “No one knew of that outside of Parliament. They even struck it from the record. No one should know that.”

“You promised him your support,” Corvo said. He raised his sword to her throat. “Long before that, I imagine. Did he promise you more riches six months ago? Did he tell you what he was planning then?”

“He wasn’t going to go through with it,” Esma told him. “It was just talk. The Empress wasn’t doing enough about the poor. They were everywhere, spreading disease.”

“What was he planning?”

“He said,” Esma halted, her eyes opening wide as if she had just connected the dots. “Oh, Outsider’s eyes,” she swore softly, “he said it would have been easier if Jessamine wasn’t there. That we could have progress if she was gone.”

“So he was behind the assassins,” Corvo said.

“But they killed Lady Emily, not her,” Esma said. Her pulse fluttered beneath his knuckles, her eyes darting fearfully to the sword against her neck. “He wouldn’t have-”

“They tried to kill Jessamine,” Corvo whispered, the voice coming out softer through his mask. “Emily got in the way, and they left instead of finishing the job. And you just gave me the proof I needed.”

“I swear I didn’t know,” Esma said as he withdrew the sword from her neck. She drew in a deep breath of air, pulling fruitlessly against the silk ties that held her fast.

“You conspired against the throne,” Corvo told her.

She shook her head, babbling empty promises to him. He put a finger to her lips, placing his sword point first above her heart. She let out a strangled scream that he silenced with a hand across her mouth as he pressed it into her chest, feeling it scrape across her breastbone before puncturing it and sinking into her heart. He held her down as she bucked against the ropes. He felt blood against his hand as she tried to breathe, her hands scrambling against the bed covers.

And then it was over. Esma Boyle stared blankly up at the ceiling with blue eyes. Corvo withdrew his blade, wiping the worst of the blood off on the red outfit she had worn. He took one last look at the body before withdrawing a small heart from the pouch on his chest.

 _“She was happy when Lord Boyle died,”_ a tired child’s voice said. _“He wasn’t kind to her. No man ever was. Not even Hiram, who left her after the child was born deformed and she left barren. What good was an Empress who couldn’t bear heirs?”_

Corvo screwed his eyes shut, tucking the Heart away. Steeling himself, he left the party the same way he came, meeting up with Samuel with little problem. The moon hadn’t hit it’s zenith by the time they were pulling up next to the hidden jetty. Corvo got out of the boat nodding to Samuel as the other man pulled the boat away. The mask came off, along with the coat, both bundled under his arm as he trotted back up to his empty room and stowed them in his chest. The sword went with them, though he knew he would have to clean it in the morning, or the blood would make the blade rust.

Going to his bathing chambers, he poured a few buckets of water over himself, washing away the grime and blood. He wouldn’t go and see her with blood dripping from his hands. Drying off quickly, he pulled on a light shirt and a pair of breeches. He sat and pulled on a pair of boots, and opened his window, stepping out onto the ledge. It was a simple matter for him to Blink across and down to the tombs. He dropped down from a pillar, running a hand through his windblown hair to the entrance to where Emily rested. Curnow said nothing as he walked past, only straightening slightly once Corvo was past him.

It was simple, as far as tombs went. A single slab inscribed with her birth and death, set before a pillar in white marble. Jessamine had set it up to overlook the sea, removing the walls that would have once encased the room. Corvo took a seat in front of the slab, his eyes tracing the letters that laid out _Lady Emily Kaldwin_. A light breeze blew past him, carrying the sound of a ship’s horn out in the bay.

“Hello, Emily,” he whispered. Unlike earlier, he didn’t hear her voice answer him. But he let himself imagine she did, a smile crossing his face.

She still wanted to learn how to climb. It was an old argument now, and he didn’t bother trying to say anything. She moved on to the newest picture she had drawn, describing it so that he could almost see the colors she used. His smile faltered as she asked him why he looked sad, and he lifted his hand to his face. It came away wet.

“I miss you,” he told her. He ached to wrap his arms around her, to smell the apple scented soap in her hair and feel her heart beating in her chest. “Everyday I miss you. We’ve almost have the men who did it.”

The image of her he held changed as he said it, warping to the corpse he had seen in his dreams. Filmy eyes stared at him, before the body collapsed, disappearing into dust as it hit the ground. Corvo held back a groan, biting his knuckle as more tears fell down his face. He took a few deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. It wouldn’t do for him to go see Jessamine like this.

“I swear to you, I’ll find them and make them pay,” Corvo promised the silent grave. A tear slid down his face, and he wiped it away with the back of his Marked hand. “I miss you so much.”

 


	8. drifter in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would have been an idiot to refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Morley

He wondered if there was good alcohol to be had in Dunwall. True, it made no difference to him, not at this turn, but it would have been nice to know before he had the decision thrust upon him. Teague picked at the edges of his sleeves, the starch in them giving him a slight rash around his wrists. The clothes were certainly an improvement on the fakes that he had made a few years ago. The ivory embroidery on the sleeves, for one, was actual thread and not paint.

Raising his glass so that the bartender could see, he let himself slump forward against the bar. It had all backfired spectacularly on him, he could admit. No one could ever expect the Overseers to come to the heathen backwaters more than two or three times a decade. Unfortunately, his luck seemed to have run out, and he had been caught out in his lie as he tried to rob a merchant of his wares.

And then the Overseer had turned and slain the merchant instead.

Teague wasn’t squeamish at the thought of murder. Outsider’s eyes, he’d slain enough men to fill two graveyards. But he had been expecting the blade to have been turned on him, sending him to the Void for what other men would call his crimes. Instead the Overseers had wiped his blade off on the corpse, and offered a hand to him. He had taken it, knowing that if he didn’t the man behind the mask would kill him just as easily.

The Overseer had taken off his mask, then, and made his offer. Join them, and serve a righteous cause, or be taken to the nearest village to be tried for his crimes. Where, it went without saying, he would likely be hanged before the day was done. The other Isles might make snide comments on the rebels of Morley, but they understood the way they meted their justice. Quick and to the point, with no chance for the offender to escape.

He would have been an idiot to refuse. If only Radha could see him. Perhaps she could, seeing his fate in the visions that the Oracles were said to have. No doubt she was laughing at the man who didn’t believe in the Outsider or the Strictures that the Overseers put forth. He had seen enough of the evils of man to know that it wasn’t some mystical force that lurked beyond this realm seducing men to give in to their baser natures. People were more than willing to do that themselves and place blame elsewhere later, after their blood had cooled.

The Overseer had followed him to this bar, but had taken a room in the inn above the bar. Teague had followed his lead, but had come to the bar rather than retire as the other man had. If he was giving up his life to join the Overseers, he was going to enjoy the excesses while he could. Maybe convince a barmaid to come to his room.

The bartender put a new glass of beer in front of him, taking the empty one away. A few of the patrons were talking in the corner, glancing at him every few minutes. No doubt they had seen an Overseer without a mask before. Most of the people he had robbed had never questioned seeing his face, for which Teague was grateful. The masks themselves, made out of metal, were almost impossible to fake, and those that could make them often charged ridiculous prices for their wares. Out of the back door, of course.

Void take it, he was going to miss this life. The Overseers would keep him cloistered within their ranks until he proved himself worthy. Which might take awhile, considering his origins in the rebel island. Unless he could find a way to make use of their ideas.

Martin paused halfway through a drink, almost spitting out his beer. While he couldn’t change the island he came from, he could make his peers in the Abbey associate him with Gristol. He had a fair approximation of the accent, having used it when the situation was called for. It wasn’t perfect, a few lilted syllables that slipped off his tongue whenever he was angered, but it was passable. Enough so that the men might even forget where he came from, given enough time.

He would have to change his name. Teague was too reminiscent of Morley, and would stick in the minds of the men. But Martin... it was a common enough name throughout the Isles, and he could get used to hearing it as his given name. He took another drink, setting down the empty glass and tossing a few coins of five on the bar top. He would work on it in the morning while the Overseer went and secured their passage back to Dunwall.

 


	9. never contemplate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps she was still a hagfish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Consequences

It hadn’t been hard to find a ship heading away from Dunwall. Surprising, since they were under a blockade, but more than enough men were willing to look the other way if they were paid enough coin. Which meant the passage hadn’t been cheap. It wasn’t enough to drain her funds, thankfully, but what she had left wouldn’t last her long once she was off the ship.

She would have to start anew. Make a name for herself, perhaps start her own merry band of assassins. Billie snorted, swinging her legs over the side of her cot. The ship had dropped anchor for the night, and the floor barely rolled under her feet as she made her way to the deck.

A few of the sailors on night watch looked at her strangely, but knew better than to ask her why she had come above. A benefit of being on a ship that didn’t technically have any cargo, she supposed. The men didn’t want to know why they were taking her away from the hellhole that was Dunwall, only caring that she paid them. She could respect that.

After all, wasn’t that similar to what she did?

It would be hard to start from scratch. Her entrance onto the stage would have to be truly something to make the men and women with petty grudges want her services. It would have to be unpaid, unfortunately, unless she could find someone who was willing to go to the supposed dregs of assassins. There were always a few, people who couldn’t afford it or men who didn’t want to part with their money . They were willing to take the chance that their ill-fitted assassin would be able to kill the target. Perhaps they were even hoping they would die, making it a simple matter of not even paying them.

Billie leaned over the side of the boat, watching a few hagfish that came up to the water’s edge, hoping to catch crumbs that fell off the side of the boat. She had been like that once, willing to take the scraps that Daud gave her. Unlike the hagfish, she hadn’t been content to live her life on crumbs. Maybe she should have been. Then she would have been able to stay at Daud’s side, instead of being sent away like a recalcitrant child.  

Billie drew her blade and hung it over the side, tracing the tip through the water. A small tremor went through the blade as the hagfish snapped at it. It circled around, then attacked the metal again, it’s sharp teeth failing to grab onto it. Perhaps she was still a hagfish. She was certainly going around in circles trying to take a bite out of a problem she couldn’t fully understand.

Sighing, she pulled the blade back, sheathing it. As Billie turned around only her training stopped her from crying out. The boat she had been on was gone, and she stood on a cobble street. It rolled under her feet, tilting upwards. She ran to the edge, spying another one that seemed to be stable about ten feet below her, and dropped to it. It was solid under her feet, and she stood up, looking out into the blue void that surrounded her. The street she had been on tumbled away

She wasn’t stupid. This had to be the Void, the realm of the Outsider. Billie clenched her fist, wishing that she still had the powers that Daud had granted her. Those had vanished as soon as he banished her, leaving her with only the skills she had learned under his tutelage. She hadn’t mourned the loss of the powers, secure in the fact that her skills in subterfuge would see her through. But, powers or not, she was helpless in this realm against a creature such as the Outsider.

_**“What made Daud spare you, I wonder?”** _

Billie shivered, the voice that echoed through the Void sending a chill down her back. She looked around warily, only to step back in surprise when the deity himself appeared in front of her. Once, she had told Daud that she would have given anything to have met the Outsider. Now that he was in front of her, she found herself wanting to take back her words. He stared at her, his almost purely black eyes not blinking as he considered her.

“I... I don’t know,” she replied, her hand resting warily on the hilt of her blade.

That seemed to intrigue him even more. He bent in close to her, his empty eyes peering into hers as if he could see the truth there. Perhaps he could.

**_“You thought he was going soft, and so tried to kill him,”_** the Outsider mused, standing straight again. ** _“Such is the way of the world. Predator and prey, and you found yourself as neither.”_**

Billie held her tongue, confused as to why she had been brought here. Was he mad that she had tried to kill Daud? Maybe he was going to finish the job that Daud, softhearted sentimental fool that he was, couldn’t.

**_“Such impressive twists and turns your life has taken, Billie Lurk,”_ ** he said, crossing his arms. **_“Daughter of a drunk, you killed a noble’s son, before being taken in by the most infamous assassin of an age. Even when you betrayed him, he spared you. I wonder what you will do now, fleeing a city that has cried for your death for years.”_**

“I’ll survive,” she replied without thinking. Rather than being mad at her outburst, the corners of the Outsider’s lips twitched upwards in a cynical smirk.

**_“You’ve known the power that Daud gave you,”_ ** he told her. His hand gestured at her carelessly. Fire seared her palm and she stripped off her glove, staring in shock at the Mark that now cut through it. **_“I wonder what you will do with this.”_**

The world seemed to shift around her, and she stumbled backwards into the rail of the ship. It dug into her back, and she allowed herself to slide down it. She couldn’t help but stare at the Mark, her glove held loosely in her other hand. This wasn’t what she had expected.

“Miss, you okay?”

Billie snapped out of her fear, tugging her glove on as the deckhand came over. She gave him a small smile and said nothing as she stood. She brushed past him and headed back to her bunk. This changed everything, and at the same time, nothing. The Outsider’s Mark could be a boon, but it also meant that she had to be more careful with what work she chose. Perhaps the deity knew that when he chose her.

Maybe he had gotten his revenge for Daud by cursing her.


	10. the chosen ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was apart from man, and watched them as they played their games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: Pandyssia

They didn’t know what they were doing, the men and women who sunk him in the ocean. They had made their prayers, hoping that their dead god would answer them and lead them to a new enlightenment. And so they chose an urchin, a boy barely past his teenage years, to be the vessel for their intercessions. They fed him with rich things that he had never even tasted, and dressed him up as if he was a lord’s son. The urchin, even in his mind, knew that there must be some trick to it.

There was always a price to pay, after all.

But he let them bathe him and put silver rings on his fingers. He didn’t pay attention to where they led him, his mind already calculating how much money the rings would bring him once he sold him. So embroiled in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice that they had taken him down to the water. The first touch of freezing salt water against his feet made him try to get away, but they held his arms fast. They pushed him under, holding him there until he stopped thrashing, chanting all the while.

The boy didn’t die. It might have been better for them if he had.

When nothing happened, when their god didn’t answer them, they left the bay. The body was left to sweep out with the tide, hiding the crimes they had committed in their fervor. Unbeknownst to them, it sunk down, deeper than anyone had ever gone, until it rested on the silty floor. The boy, trapped within the mortal shell by their spells, listened to the ocean and the call of the leviathan.

And he rejected this death. A power that he knew not answered him, transporting him away from seafloor and to what would become his realm. The Void needed a new ruler, a new deity, after the one before him tired and let itself be consumed.

Dripping with saltwater, he infused the Void with his own marks, beaches becoming the emptiness of the ocean, and endless stretches of sand becoming broken bits of streets, tumbling through the dark.  Taking stock of what he had done, he called light into his world, banishing the darkness that had been the last thing the boy had seen when they had murdered him.

With a thought he dried himself and conjured a mirror. The figure in it was different from the urchin that had been taken from the streets, or even the boy who had been drowned by religious fanatics. His skin, once tanned, looked like a corpse that had been dragged out of the sewers, the skin as white as bone. The most notable change that he noticed was his eyes, which had been flooded with black. He banished the mirror, and set about discovering what he could do.

It grew boring, quickly. There was no limit, he found, to what he could do. At the back of his mind, where a young boy screamed at what had been done to him, he discovered a purpose. It was the work of seconds to see the men and women who had created him. They had fallen from their faith in the years since his death, abandoning the work of trying to contact their dead god after sacrificing other men and women with no response.

He wasn’t a punishing god, he decided as he watched them go about their daily lives. They had done what they thought would call their god to them, and, in the end, he was nothing more than a stepping stone to what they wanted. Killing them would be... boring.

And so he appeared to one of them, cloaked in smoke and shadow. The man had cowered before him, asking what a god would want with him. Considering him, his head tilting to the side, he waved his hand, and a mark appeared on the back of the man’s hand. He remembered scratching it in the dirt once, back when he had been young.

“What am I to do with this, my lord?” the man asked. A curl of displeasure ran through the young deity at the title, but he let it go.

 ** _“Make things interesting,”_** he said, letting himself vanish from the man’s sight.

He had chosen poorly with his first disciple, a man who had held him under as he struggled for breath. The man was greedy, coveting his neighbor's wealth and luxury, even as his equaled theirs. He used the powers he had been given to amass his fortune, and died when those who relied on him revolted at his practices. They came at him with swords and axes, and he fell beneath them, his blood pooling on the gold and silver he had cherished.

The second had been more interesting. A woman, one of the ones who had placed silver rings on his fingers. Unlike her fellows, she had not risen through the ranks of society, and barely afforded to keep a house for her family. She had been less respectful of him, but he had watched what she did, the calculating schemes that she came up with to punish the ones who had abandoned her.

One died from poison, blood dripping from his eyes and nose as his family watched. Another she held from the highest point in the city and let her fall onto the cobble below. Soon, she was found out, and rather than let them take her in, she slaughtered her entire family before killing herself. A rather boring end for one who had done such entertaining woman.

He let the fervor calm down, and watched as the mark, his Mark, became feared and revered by different peoples. A few left, carrying with them their suspicions of his Mark. He paid them no mind, intrigued as he was by tormenting the ones who had created him. The oldest of his murderers, reaching old age, began to grow complacent, believing that he had escaped what had happened to his friends. That he had escaped the purview of this new god.

This time he doesn’t go to one of the others, one of the ones who would die as soon as the guards caught wind of what they were doing. The nobles were watched too much, with too much suspicion, to do anything that would be truly interesting. And so he watched, and waited for someone to appear, someone who would stir up the monotony of this world.

Two appeared, both with reasons to look for change.

A young woman, taken as a concubine for the lord, and tossed on the street when she fell pregnant from his ministrations. The child was lost in blood that drenched her dress, and she cursed the man who did this to her. He appeared to her before the blood had even begun to dry, offering his Mark. She took it readily, her hand clasping against her breast as it burned onto her clavicle.

The man was different. He had worked as a stablehand, until the lord’s prized stallion had died. It hadn’t been his fault that the grain had a fungus, but he found himself beaten and tossed into an alley, where they hoped that he would die amongst the refuse. Instead he crawled away, finding a lean-to in which to treat his wounds. When he fell asleep, it wasn’t an issue to appear in his dreams and make his offer. The man accepted, but more warily than the woman, the Mark appearing on his bicep.

“What do I call you?” he asked before the god could disappear.

The deity paused, thinking over his answer before he answered the man. Of course, in what was seconds to them was hours in the waking world. He had never really contemplated his existence, merely accepting it for what it was. He was apart from man, and watched them as they played their games.

 ** _“I am the Outsider,”_** he said as the man woke up.

He watched the two of them as they discovered their powers. The woman found that she could put a poison in blood that killed people slowly, while the man created a fungus that drove men insane. Eventually the two crossed paths, and, to his surprise, joined together. Together they destroyed the man who had taken everything from them. His fields fell fallow, his people dying from untraceable poisons or going mad for no discernable reasons. The noble died, fungus and poison combining in his body. His disciples, their revenge granted, moved to other interests.

It wasn’t to last. The body, tossed in a pauper’s grave, was picked clean by rats. Eventually the combination of poison and fungus turned into something else, and spread amongst the populace. The people that could escape did, travelling to where the others had fled, carrying even more stories of the strange black eyed god called the Outsider. His disciples did not fare as luckily, finding themselves infected by the very disease that they created. They died together, curled around one another in their sleep.

He watched their final gift spread about the continent, evolving until the madness that had been a secondary characteristic spread to infect even the very ground. Animals and people, driven to the heights of insanity, tore each other to pieces. Those that found themselves immune constructed shrines to him, praying for deliverance that he would never give.

His vengeance sated, he waited and watched as the jungles repossessed what had once been the domain of cities. And then, one day, a woman appeared, walking through the abandoned cities and taking notes for an Empire.

Perhaps this Vera could make things interesting for him again.


	11. to a higher ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halfway across the street he Blinked... and fell about three feet short of the edge of the manor’s roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: Embarrassed

Parties, Corvo decided, were the worst thing that a man could be forced to attend. He had attended more than his fair share as Jessamine’s Lord Protector, but until Daud had killed her, he never had a reason to stay by his charge’s side. It was, after all, expected that no one would take advantage of the Empress while she was hosting such an event.

Unfortunately, Emily did not have the distinction of being her mother. The people loved her and the nobility respected her, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t try to encourage certain behaviors that were unbecoming of an Empress. Taking the champagne flute that had been put into his charge’s hand, he replaced it with an apricot tartlet. He saw the tiniest of frowns cross her face before it lit up with the realization that he was letting her have one of her favorite treats. She dug into it daintily enough, the corners of her lips turning up in a self satisfied smile.

Callista would have his head, if she found out about it. It was easily the fourth one that Emily had eaten that evening, which meant that it was going to be harder for her ladies maids to get her to bed. She would no doubt badger them for stories about improper things for an empress to hear. After the first maid had come to him instead of the housekeeper, he had asked what the young Empress had been asking for.

“Stories of pirates and fighting,” the maid had said, wringing her hands. “We’ve tried telling her the fairy stories that were on the shelves, but she kept asking when the action would happen.”

“She’s bored with the stories,” Corvo surmised.

“We’re at our wits end, my Lord,” she said. “It surely isn’t appropriate-”

“Her Ladyship has had an,” Corvo paused. He bit the inside of his cheek as he thought of where he had found Emily after Jessamine’s death, knowing that such knowledge would make the maid faint away. “Lady Emily has had an interesting season,” he finally said. “Do you have nephews or sons?”

“Two, my sister’s boys.”

“Then you know some stories that they would like? Tell them to her. I’ll take any blame if she’s troubled by them,” Corvo assured her.

Things had been easier with the staff after the incident was resolved. A few times, mostly when he had come to see Emily before she went to bed, she would ask for a fairy tale that her mother had once read to her. Her ladies maids tittered behind their hands as he sat beside her bed, his low voice lulling her quickly to sleep. A few had given him knowing looks, but none said anything. It was a well known secret that Emily and he shared a deeper bond than what normally was held between Lord Protector and Empress.

Emily reached up, covering a yawn with her hand. Corvo glanced at one of the clocks hidden behind a pillar, noting the late hour. The nobles were just starting to loosen up, their talking growing loud in the hall. The Empress would not be missed, Corvo imagined, if she took her leave now. By the morning most would not even remember when she had left, having drunk deeply of their cups.

She took his hand when he offered it, nodding to a few nobles who glanced at them. It was easy to lead her to the side door and enter the private areas of Dunwall Tower. Emily had refused the Empress’ apartments, and for the time being Corvo was willing to let her keep the rooms that she had as her mother’s heir. At the very least it would throw off any assassins who thought that she had taken to her mother’s rooms. A maid met them at the door to Emily’s chambers, taking the young Empress’ hand and leading her inside. Corvo turned around to head to his own chambers, but stopped when Emily poked her head out of the doors.

“Are you going to read me a story tonight, Corvo?”

“I’m afraid not, my Lady,” he said. He turned and sat on his heels as she opened the door a little wider, slipping out of the room completely.

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked. He reached out a hand and ruffled her hair, smiling when she batted his hand away.

“No,” he lied. “But someone has to make sure none of the nobles do anything while they’re here.”

Emily seemed to think about it for a moment, before throwing her arms around his neck. She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek as she drew back, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Don’t let them steal anything,” she told him. He nodded as she opened the door to her apartments.

As soon as he heard the lock click he turned and and went to his own, a smaller set of rooms halfway down the hallway. They weren’t the same ones that he had occupied from before the worst year of his life, but it was better because of it. There weren’t memories of a lost love coming to visit him in the dark hours of the night, and secrets whispered over glasses of crude whiskey.

He locked his door behind him, knowing that no one would think to try and get in. Corvo tugged off the his coat, walking over to the washbasin and shoving his left hand under the water. He scrubbed at the back of it, brown mixing with the water until it ran clear. The Outsider’s Mark stood stark on his hand, glowing slightly as he channelled some mana through it. Nodding to himself, he went to his closet and flipped a hidden switch. The back of the armoire recessed slightly, letting him reach in and pull out his mask and the clothes he wore when he went out on less than official business.

Well, technically what he was doing tonight was official business. He was just cutting down on the red tape that it would take to get the information they needed to accuse a noble of conspiring against the Crown. If there had been a Spymaster in the employ of the Crown, Corvo would have shoved the duty to them, but there hadn’t been any capable replacements for the title’s traitorous predecessor.

Opening his window, Corvo leapt out, Blinking while in the air to a safe ledge halfway down the facade of the building. Two more transversals and he was at the main gate, leaping over the fence and hitting the ground at a run. He looked up at the sky, magnifying his gaze so he could get an accurate read on the stars and moon. Judging by the party still going on and the alignment of the heavens, he had about four hours until Lord Wickham would return home. Plenty of time to snoop around.

Extending his hand towards the rooftops, he let the power the Outsider had granted him drag him. Thankfully Lord Wickham kept his estate in the district closest to Dunwall Tower. It would have been the work of weeks otherwise to give himself the perfect opening to enter. As it was, the party that was currently being held was a concession to his needs. If he could have had his way he wouldn’t have allowed any of the vipers to get close to his charge until she was at her majority. But, as things were, he had no choice. Emily would brook no Lord Regent, and Corvo couldn’t help but agree with her. The men who had held the title had shown their true colors; Emily would rule as Empress without someone else holding the reins.

As he neared Wickham’s estates, Corvo let the thoughts of Emily fall from his mind. He again focused his mask, looking at the grounds of the manor. A few personal guards patrolled the area, congregating mostly around the main door. Some had even lit cigars, the smoke drifting up into the night sky. Disregarding that approach, he moved to another rooftop, landing lightly on the peaked roof.

Scanning the side of the estate he saw a few open windows that could give him access to the interior. The upper floors where he would need to go were dark, whereas the lower floors were aglow with whale oil lights. It was likely that the servants wouldn’t even venture to the upper floors until their master returned home. Readying himself, Corvo took a running leap and let his momentum carry him closer to the manor. Halfway across the street he Blinked... and fell about three feet short of the edge of the manor’s roof.

As he began to fall, he felt someone catch him around the waist and the world blurred around him again. His savior pulled both of them onto the roof, dumping him on the tiles and backing a few feet away as Corvo got his bearings. His fingers twitched on the tiles as he fought the blush of embarrassment that crept up his neck. His savior wouldn’t know it was there, but the burning heat would make it impossible for him to properly thank them.

Corvo halted his thought process, the happenings of the last few seconds replaying in his head. There was no way for anyone to have caught him and then traversed up the side of the building without magic. Pushing himself to his feet, Corvo met the Daud’s eyes with the glass ones of his mask. The assassin looked annoyed, and if it were even possible, annoyed.

“What are you doing here?” Corvo asked, the words coming out biting through his mask. Daud rolled his eyes and wiped his gloved hand across his face.

“Take off that ridiculous mask,” he said in reply, “and I might tell you.”

Warily, Corvo did, hooking the mask onto his belt. As he did his hand twitched towards his sword. He crossed his arms instead, raising an eyebrow as he waited for Daud to speak.

“Your transversal needs work,” Daud said. Corvo bit his tongue as he felt his cheeks heat slightly.

“I misjudged the jump,” he said casually.

“And you almost ended up splattered across Lord Wickham’s shrubbery. Might actually have been an improvement,” he said, looking over the edge of the building at the bushes. “His groundskeepers are horrendous.”

“I’m sure I could have survived,” Corvo replied. “And you haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“Of the two of us, I don’t think I deserve that title.” Corvo said, putting his mask back on.

Daud said nothing, letting Corvo brush past him with the barb. Corvo leaned over and dropped from the roof, his fingers grasping a windowsill. He pulled himself inside the manor, his footfalls silent on the carpet of the hallway. He closed his eyes, and called up his Dark Vision, letting the interior be painted in shades of grey. No one appeared to be on this floor, which was just as well, since it appeared that Wickham’s study was on the other side of the manor.

He had his sword out and just barely stopped himself from putting it against Daud’s throat as the man entered behind him. The other man raised an eyebrow, but did nothing. Corvo let out a small sigh and resigned himself to having a tail for this mission.

He wasn’t sure why he was letting Daud follow him as he went to Wickham’s bedroom first. Corvo had spared the man, thinking that he would leave Dunwall, but his appearance here, four months after he had last seen him, shot holes in any chance of that happening. Opening a chest, Corvo found a few unsealed envelopes. A finger tapping on his shoulder made him turn around, only for Daud to hand him another few sheets of paper. He tucked them inside his shirt before closing everything back up the way he had found it.

He hadn’t returned to the Flooded District to make sure that Daud had left. Perhaps he should have, now that he thought about it. Put a little more pressure on the man that Burrows had hired to kill Jessamine, to make him think that there would be more heat coming down on him sooner or later. But he had been so embroiled in making sure that Emily was safe, and that any noble that plotted against her was left apologizing for things that would never come to pass, that he hadn’t paid any mind to what had happened to the assassins.

Opening the door of Wickham’s study, Corvo made his way to the desk, looking at the papers strewn across it. None were of interest to him, and he made his way through the drawers, finding only a few miscellaneous items that could implicate the man in a smuggling ring. In the bottom drawer he found a vial of poison, which he slipped into a pouch on his belt. Piero and Sokolov could tell him what it was, and hopefully work up an antidote to use.

“Over here,” Daud said softly.

Corvo looked up to see Daud prying painting off the wall, revealing a small safe. He went up to it, huffing in annoyance at the combination lock. He doubted that Lord Wickham kept his combination on a piece of paper somewhere, which meant that there was no way for them to open it.

“And if he’s like most nobles,” Daud continued, spinning the wheel latch, which clicked open, “he thinks he’s smarter than your average thief and doesn’t bother locking up after himself.”

Corvo raised an eyebrow in surprise as Daud pulled out a few things from the safe. A few he put back, but a stack of letters he passed to Corvo. Out of curiousity, Corvo opened one of them. The first few lines read like a normal letter, but quickly devolved into a discussion of how best to manipulate the young heiress into granting former houses to a group of nobles. He folded the letter up and slid it into his coat, where it nestled with the ones he had found in the bedroom.

It was far easier to leave the manor then to enter it. Once he was a few houses away, Corvo stopped and took off his mask. Daud appeared next to him, folding his arms across his chest as Corvo took him in.

“Thank you,” Corvo said. He was surprised at how grateful the words actually sounded. He hadn’t liked the assassin, but he had been helpful with the break-in.

“Think nothing of it,” Daud replied. He seemed to want to say more, but settled for grinding his teeth together instead.

“Why would you?” Corvo asked, his courtly etiquette failing him.

“How much trouble do you think that girl of yours would be in if you died?” Daud asked instead. “How soon before someone took advantage of her, or until she drowned in her grief from losing another parent.. al figure?”

The pause was negligible, but Corvo had been steeped in courtly intrigues for more than ten years. He caught what Daud meant to say, and the implication that an assassin knew what was considered secret rankled him.

“If you’re talking about that misstep, I would have been fine,” Corvo reiterated.

“And Lady Emile’s estate a month ago? If you had misjudged that? No bushes to catch you there?”

“Have you been following me?”

Daud shrugged. “It took us a couple of times to figure out where you were going, but once we did, someone was always with you.”

“You and your assassins were following me.”

“And Lady Emily, when she went out into the city with you,” Daud admitted without shame. “It would be a shame for something to happen to her.”

“Is that a threat?” Corvo asked, his hand resting on his sword hilt. Daud raised his hands in a placating movement, then seemed to think better of it. Both of them knew what he was capable of doing with open hands.

“Consider it repayment,” Daud said. “I’ve no want to see another Empress dead in my lifetime.”

“Unless someone paid you?”

“I told you, I’ve lost the taste for it,” Daud told him. “But the skills my Whalers and I have are useful, and the guards you have are almost useless. You’re lucky no one’s been looking for a way to take advantage of that.”

His words stung, but he was right. Unfortunately, the cure for the Rat Plague was taking it’s time to circulate through the populace. Until it was done, they needed the more skilled guards working the checkpoints. Emily had insisted on going into the City to see the people a handful of times, and Corvo couldn’t have refused her. The people saw her as a signal of good things to come, and almost worshipped the ground she walked on. It wasn’t a bad way for her to start her reign, no matter how dangerous it could have been.

“So, out of the goodness of your heart,” Corvo said sarcastically, “you’ve decided to guard the Empress and her Lord Protector.”

“It’s not like you couldn’t use the extra eyes,” Daud said. “You’re running yourself ragged being the Lord Protector and Spymaster. It’s only a matter of time until you screw up.”

Before he could say something biting in return, Corvo stopped. The man in front of him, with no known outside prodding, was trying to help him. And for all that Corvo could hate him for what he had done to Jessamine and what he had helped put Emily through, he was honest. Or, well, Corvo amended, as honest as an assassin could be. He eyed the man in front of him, his lips curling up slightly. An answer for a problem was staring him in the face, if the man would accept.

Corvo had a feeling that he would, out of guilt if nothing else.

“Would those extra eyes be amenable to being paid?”

Daud looked at him strangely, not following where his train of thought had taken him. Corvo’s smile widened, which made the furrows on the other man’s forehead deepen.

“What are you suggesting?”

“The Realm is in need of a Royal Spymaster,” Corvo said. “The position comes with an island with no flooded rooms, and a tidy sum each year. Enough for a contingent of spies and assassins to live off of.”

“You’re joking.”

“A full pardon for past crimes, even,” Corvo said, even though the words pained him. “Not that the exact crimes would be stated. We wouldn’t want the populace at your throat.”

“Only you get that pleasure, I assume?”

“I’d make sure you stayed in line, yes,” Corvo agreed.

“And how are you going to get your girl to agree to it?” Daud asked. “She knows my face. She knows what I did.”

“She’s a forgiving girl, just like her mother,” Corvo said, a hint of pride in his voice. “She may not like you, but she’d do what was right for the Empire.”

“And you? Could you work with the man who killed your Empress?”

“I’ve already spared your life, Daud,” Corvo said. “And you thought to save me from a fall. I may not like you, but I can trust you.”

Daud seemed to consider his words, nodding slightly. Corvo held out his hand, and wasn’t surprised when the rough leather of Daud’s glove met it. Releasing the former assassin’s hand, Corvo sighted another roof, traversing to it easily. Before he fully left his current perch, he heard a muffled curse. When he landed on his destination, he jumped again as Daud fell in behind him.

 


	12. a heart as black as cardinal sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He raised an eyebrow at the black eyed god that stood across from him, before moving his eyes to the soggy paper on his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12: The Outsider
> 
> (and now something completely different from how I usually write him)(also: Corvo/Outsider fluff with slight angst)

**_“You never acted on it.”_ **

Corvo ignored the statement, flipping to the next page in the letter. Emily, for all her youth, had managed to charm Parliament into agreeing to most of the policies she put forth. However, all the charm in the world could not stop the letters that disgruntled nobles sent her as she increased their taxes. After a razor had fallen out of a letter onto the new Empress’ lap, Corvo had taken to making sure that every letter was opened and checked before reaching Emily. It had been a sound decision in his mind, considering some of the vitriol that nobles could send through written words.

The words on the page began to run, and Corvo reached a hand up to rub at his eyes. As he stared at the page again, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. He raised an eyebrow at the black eyed god that stood across from him, before moving his eyes to the soggy paper on his desk. The Outsider made no comment, only the tiniest quirk of his lips giving truth to what he had done.

“I was reading that,” he told the deity.

 ** _“You looked as if you wanted to be doing anything else,”_** the Outsider replied. **_“Though I do think you have cause to be offended. Your young Empress is certainly not a bastard child, no matter that her mother did not publicize her father’s name.”_**

Corvo snorted. “I’m sure the knowledge that he’s a Serkonan commoner would make things much better. And it’s nothing that hasn’t been bandied about before. Jessamine fought almost until her first birthday to get her confirmed as heir.”

 ** _“And it doesn’t bother you that she did not name you?”_** the Outsider said, walking around the desk.

“Should it?” Corvo asked. “Emily is beloved of the populace. Only the nobles seeking to be Lord Regent or the throne are concerned with her birth.”

 ** _“I imagined you would be more concerned with your daughter’s feelings on the matter,”_ ** he said.

“And Emily talks to you about it?”

 ** _“She is much like you,”_** the Outsider said. **_“Hiding what hurts and denying herself what she wants for others."_**

“Emily is hurting?” Corvo asked, concern lacing his voice.

**_“She lost her mother, whom she loved. And she sees her father hurting because of his love.”_ **

“She sees too much,” Corvo said to himself. He picked at the soggy paper, catching a word here and there where the ink hadn’t run. Emily had asked him a few weeks ago if he loved someone else, and Corvo had done his best to assure her that he would always love her mother. The love he harbored now, he told her, was unattainable. He had hoped that she would forget, but apparently she had held onto the conversation.

The Outsider said nothing, staring at Corvo as if he had missed the point of their conversation. Corvo sighed and leaned forward, gathering the wet paper and tossing it in a wastebasket. To his disgust, pieces of the waterlogged mess stuck to his fingers, and it was only by flicking them towards the basket that they finally slid off.

**_“Did you love her?”_ **

The question drew Corvo up short, and he looked at the Outsider from behind his hair. The god had his head cocked to the side, an inquisitive look that he had never seen before. The Outsider had always seemed to know the truth of a matter, no matter how much someone would tried to hide it.

“Yes, I did,” Corvo told him. He sat up, his eyes closing as his mind unconsciously called up the memories of Jessamine that he treasured. Corvo sighed and opened his eyes, knowing that if he lingered too long in his memories that he would come to the one he tried to avoid. While there was no avoiding the truth of the matter, he had relived Jessamine’s murder enough while in Coldridge and his dreams every night.

 ** _“How did you know?”_** the Outsider asked. Corvo looked at him, confused by the question. There was nothing about his posture or figure that gave away that he was making fun of him, so he saw no harm in answering.

“I didn’t, at first,” Corvo said finally. He shook his head ruefully. “She was my charge. I was supposed to protect her from anyone that would harm her. And then... I got hurt when some noble tried to get her alone.”

Corvo felt his lips curl upwards at the memory. The young nobleman had tried to take Jessamine down a deserted hallway, counting on his bodyguards to stop Corvo from getting to them. Both men had been down in an instant, and in his fear the man had drawn a pistol and fired at Corvo, hitting him in the shoulder. The pain had surprised him enough that he had dropped to the floor, convinced that he was about to see the Emperor’s daughter murdered while he struggled to his feet.

The noble, instead of continuing to drag Jessamine down the hall, had stared at Corvo. No doubt the enormity of what he was doing had begun to sink in, even as Corvo slammed into the wall, his gait unsteady as blood soaked into his jacket. Jessamine took advantage of the noble’s distraction, slamming her elbow into his gut and dragging his gun hand across her body. He hit the floor, and she kicked him swiftly in the head, knocking him out. The next few moments were a blur for Corvo, his only solid memories being Jessamine’s hands cradling his face and a litany of words begging him to stay with her.

He had woken up three days later to her at his bedside. A whale oil lamp sat on his side table, casting a flickering light over her sleeping face. When he had tried to move his hand, he had found hers tangled with his. It had been the first time he admitted that he was too attached to her, but the smile she had given him once she saw he was awake made the heartache worthwhile.

“Even after...” he continued, shaking the memory from his mind. “It wasn’t until after her father passed that it became anything more. And we could never admit the truth, except in private. For all intents and purposes, I was just her Lord Protector.”

 ** _“It was nothing at first. And then you would not act on it,”_** the Outsider mused to himself. Something seemed to click together for the whale god. He stood with an inhuman fluidity and stepped between Corvo and his desk. Corvo held his breath, unsure of why the deity had invaded his personal space. The Outsider leaned forward, making Corvo retreat until the back of his head hit the winged back of his chair.

The Outsider’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Corvo had the distinct impression that this was what a fish felt like before being eaten by a shark. Before he could voice the thought, the Outsider pressed his lips against Corvo’s own. Corvo froze, staring into the Outsider’s black eyes as the deity pulled backwards. He cleared his throat, his tongue running across his lips and taking in the tang of salt as he thought of what to say.

“I... what?” was his confused reply.

The Outsider leaned forward again, and Corvo couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking to the deity’s lips. He had known from a young age that men and women attracted him, but he had never expected something like this, especially after Jessamine. No one else would dare approach the Lord Protector, especially one that was as devoted to his charge (daughter) as he was.

 ** _“My dear Corvo,”_** the Outsider whispered.

His words hit Corvo’s lips in puffs of air, teasing him more than the Outsider had any right to. Corvo leaned forward, the tip of his nose brushing the god’s. He looked into his black eyes, daring him to say something else. The Outsider’s chest rumbled in an approximation of a chuckle as he leaned forward to press their lips together again. It was still too chaste for what Corvo wanted as he pulled back. He resisted the urge to wrap his hands around the back of the whale god’s neck and bring him back.

 ** _“Finish your letters, my dear Corvo,”_** the Outsider said, stepping backwards. He vanished into smoke, leaving the scent of brine behind him. Corvo groaned, cursing himself for attracting the type of people that would leave him flustered.

“Teasing bastard,” Corvo muttered. A feeling like fingers trailing over the back of his neck made him look up, only to find no one there.

 ** _“I intend to finish what we’ve started here,”_ ** the Outsider said, the words caressing Corvo’s ear like lapping water. **_“But I would hate to for you to be distracted for what I have planned.”_**

Corvo let his head hit the wood of the desk.

 


	13. bellowing growls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud was looking at him like Corvo was an idiot, rather than the man who had soundly handed him his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13: Don't Eat That!
> 
> (or, the one where Corvo is snarky, Daud is a father to his men, and they bond over blood sausage.)

“And you choose mercy. Extraordinary.”

Corvo rolled his eyes behind his mask, sheathing his sword. His stomach growled, and he hoped that the assassin couldn’t hear it. The day had been long enough already, and it was doubtful that he was going to get to eat at the Hound Pits Pub after this. It was doubtful that he would ever eat there again, given the poison he had been slipped.

He saw Daud watching him out of the corner of his eye as he went over to the stove that sat precariously on the wooden floorboards. The sounds of someone traversing met his ears, but Corvo hoped Daud was smarter than to try and attack him again. Just because he was willing to let him go didn’t mean that he wouldn’t shove a blade through the man’s gut if he tried something.

The stove hadn’t worked in years, but if there was something that Corvo had learned from sneaking around the last few weeks, it was that people hated to throw things away. Broken stoves or lockers without doors, people still used them. So, when he opened the doors of the stove and found a bruised Morley apple, he took it without a second thought and buffed it slightly on his sleeve.

When he turned around he was surprised to see Daud still in the same place he had been, although now with one of his assassins bandaging a wound on his arm. Shrugging at the man, Corvo lifted his mask off and took a bite of the apple. He grimaced, picking out the worm that seemed to have infested it and tossing it to the side, before taking another bite.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Corvo looked up and raised an eyebrow at him. Daud was looking at him like Corvo was an idiot, rather than the man who had soundly handed him his ass. He took another bite of the apple, ignoring the bitter tang from the bruised area. It hadn’t stopped him in Coldridge, where the food could have anything from mealworms to spiders in it.

“I thought you would have left,” Corvo said, swallowing. Daud’s face grew pained as Corvo bit down on the apple again.

“And gone where, exactly?” Daud asked. “Apparently you’ve knocked most of my men out. Some with sleep darts, which can take up to eight hours to wear off.”

Corvo grinned at him, holding his apple out to him like it was a glass of Tyvian Red. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome?”

“I could have just killed them,” Corvo said dismissively. The Whaler next to Daud tensed, but a hand on his arm stopped him from drawing his blade.

“My thanks, then.”

“It would have been a waste,” Corvo told him. He grimaced as he took another bite of the apple, the tart flavor spreading through his mouth. “And I hadn’t planned on killing you either. I just needed to get to the sewers?”

“The sewers,” Daud said, disbelief in his voice.

“It’s the quickest way to get to where I need to go,” Corvo said, careful not to say exactly where that was. He finished the apple, bending down to see if there was anything else in the old stove. Moving aside an empty bottle, he pulled out a tin of brined hagfish. He pulled back the top and pulled out one of the dried fish. He stuck it in his mouth, biting it off right before the tail.

The sound of gagging made him look back at Daud and the Whaler next to him. The Whaler coughed again as Corvo tossed the tail away, before turning his mask towards Daud.

“He defeated you?” the man asked, his distorted voice still managing to sound slightly queasy.

“I... yes,” Daud said. He pushed to his feet, leaning slightly on his man.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Daud moved to stand in front of him, picking the tin of brined hagfish out of his hand. Corvo grabbed it back, pulling it in protectively to his chest as he took another one out and ate it.

“Shit, he’s as bad as some of the novices.”

“Thomas,” Daud began to say, before breaking off. Corvo watched as he sighed and wiped a hand over his brow. “See if the kitchens aren’t a mess, and then gather everyone in from patrols.”

“I can leave,” Corvo said, dropping the empty tin on top of the empty stove. Daud held a hand out at him, pinching the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand. The Whaler, Thomas, traversed away, and Corvo fought the urge to do the same.

“When did you last eat, bodyguard?” Daud asked him.

Corvo fought rolling his eyes and settled for waving his hand at the empty tin on the stove. Daud muttered something under his breath, before reaching a hand out towards him. Corvo stepped backwards, out of the man’s reach, his blade out and in his hand and pointed at the assassin. Surprisingly, Daud took a step back and held both of his hands out to the sides. Corvo collapsed his blade and hung it on his belt, crossing his arms and watching Daud with narrowed eyes.

“I’m not armed-” Daud began to say, but stopped. He closed his eyes and exhaled, which reminded Corvo of one of his old fencing tutors when he dealt with boys who thought they knew how to fight with swords. “I’m not armed with anything that I plan on using on you,” he revised.

“We were fighting not twenty minutes ago,” Corvo told him.

“And you spared my life,” Daud said, as if that meant something more than Corvo deciding to be the better man of the two of them. “I assure you, I mean you no harm.”

“Now, you mean.”

“Are you hungry?” Daud asked, cutting off their argument.

Corvo shook his head, even as his stomach rumbled at the words. The apple and hagfish hadn’t been enough for missing two, maybe three days worth of food. And he hadn’t had a chance to eat before going to take care of the Lord Regent, which probably meant that it was closer to five days. His stomach growled even louder at the thought, punctuating it with the sharp pain of hunger that he had grown used to in Coldridge.

“Bullshit,” Daud said, calling his lie. Corvo said nothing, turning around to walk away from the master assassin. His lack of food wasn’t Daud’s concern. If he could break into one of the houses on the way back to the Hound Pits Pub he could probably find some food that wasn’t too moldy. It wasn’t what people would think a Lord Protector would eat, but, again, Coldridge had taught him not to be picky. Food was food, no matter if it had a little bit of green on it.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Corvo felt the world rush around him. It was different from when he would use Blink, and he had the strangest sense that he had dissolved for the barest of moments before he found himself somewhere else. He shrugged off the hand on his shoulder, his sword in his hand again as he whipped around to face Daud.

For his part Daud stepped away, his hands again out to his sides. Which wasn’t as comforting as it had been, now that they were surrounded by Whalers, some of whom had drawn their blades when he leveled his at their leader. He gritted his teeth, wishing that he had put his mask on again. It would be too easy for one of them to get at his eyes, thereby giving them the upper hand in the fight.

“Stand down,” Daud said, shocking both the Whalers and Corvo.

“But sir, he’s-”

“My guest, for the time being,” Daud replied. “Stand down.”

Corvo watched warily as the Whalers did, their blades slipping into sheaths and sleeves. Daud seemed to relax minutely at their acceptance, which did nothing to make Corvo feel better. The man had more or less kidnapped him, even after saying that no harm would come to him. When the Whalers continued to stare at him, Corvo let his blade retract, and hooked it on his belt. This seemed to pacify most of them, and they turned to Daud, waiting for whatever he said next.

“Are Quinn or Jenkins up?” Daud asked his men.

“Quinn’s upstairs sleeping off a dart,” a Whaler said. “Jenkin’s was out on patrol. He hasn’t checked in yet.”

“Thomas went to gather them in,” Daud said. “How many of them did you put out?” he asked Corvo.

“Three on the edges of the District,” Corvo said, confusion starting to creep in. He took a look around the room, noting the long tables and what looked like a working kitchen. A few of the assassins in grey were sitting silently at the tables, but seemed to be paying great attention to what the ones in dark blue were doing. All of them seemed to hang on Daud’s words.

“Safe, I assume?” Daud said.

“Aside from being covered in trash, yes,” Corvo told him. “I choked out two of them. They should wake up sooner.”

Daud grunted, turning his back to the room. His head swiveled over the kitchen space, his shoulders slumping as if some great burden had been placed on him.

“We’ve got some blood sausage still, don’t we?” he asked the room. A few Whalers made noises of assent. A few of the ones who had taken their masks off had grins on their faces, obviously pleased by Daud’s statement.

“I brought back some pears and apples a few days ago,” another in blue piped up. “They should be in the ice chest.

“Thank you, Nicholas,” Daud said.

Corvo slipped to the side of the room and put his back against the wall, watching as the assassins seemed to forget about him. They still looked at him, but they were much more casual about it, letting him have the illusion that he was out of their minds. Daud had opened up a few cupboards, pulling out pans and sausage. A bottle from the wall poured a generous amount of oil into the pan, and was quickly joined by the sausage. Daud lit the stove and set the pan to simmer, the oil popping as it heated. The scent of cooking meat soon permeated the air, and Corvo had to bite the inside of his cheek at the hunger pains that made his stomach cramp.

He slunk his way closer to Daud, watching as the man pulled the apples and pears from the ice chest and set them on a cutting board. A knife appeared in his hand and he began slicing the fruit. To Corvo’s surprise he seemed to know what he was doing, the slices all appearing to be equal in length and size.

“If you’re going to stand there and stare, grab that wok and set it on the stove,” Daud told him.

Corvo blinked, surprised at the command, but found himself doing as asked. The assassin grunted his thanks picking another bottle from the wall and pouring it into the wok. The scent of sugar hit Corvo’s nose, and he snuck a finger into the sauce. A sweet nutty flavor flooded his mouth, and he found himself wanting more. Instead, he wiped his finger on the edge of his coat and stuck his hands behind his back before Daud turned around and dumped the fruit in the wok.

“Flip that in a few minutes,” he instructed.

Daud then turned to the sausage, which had browned considerably in it’s own pan. Corvo watched as he took it out and set it on another cutting board, the grease making a trail over the countertop. Daud picked out a different knife and began slicing it into smaller pieces. He bent down and pulled out two plates, putting a few pieces on each. Corvo looked away, his stomach grumbling at the scents around him. He flipped his wok, letting the fruit be completely coated in the nutty sauce.

“Good,” Daud said.

Corvo jumped slightly, the wok clattering against the stovetop. Daud caught the handle easily, moving over to the two plates he had made and putting some of the fruit on each. He handed one of the plates to Corvo, gesturing for him to take a seat at one of the tables. As he took one Daud took the other, handing a fork and knife to him.

“Serve yourselves,” he said loudly enough for the Whalers to hear. There was a mad dash for the pans that they had made, and a clattering of plates as they were distributed.

Corvo looked at the food on his plate, then up at Daud, who was already tucking in. As if noticing his gaze, Daud looked up. His eyes went to Corvo’s fork, which he held loosely in his hand.

“It’s not poisoned,” Daud said.

“Well, that’s thoughtful of you,” Corvo replied, taking the hint and spearing a piece of fruit on his fork. His hunger quickly took over, and he found himself eating as slowly as he could manage. He had made a mistake the first time he had the option of eating as much as he wanted at the Hound Pits Pub. He wondered if Havelock and Pendleton had taken that as a sign of how easy he would be able to manipulate.

“You do that often?” Daud asked. Corvo looked at him strangely, confused by the non-sequitur. “Eat random things you find places,” he clarified.

“Not much choice in the matter,” Corvo said, picking up a piece of sausage and taking a bite. “And most of it’s not that bad.”

“Six months in prison really change your tastes that much, Lord Protector?”

The slight edge of a taunt in Daud’s voice made Corvo bristle. “Six months of eating every three days or so, with moldy food if I was lucky?” he asked. “Most of the stuff I’ve found is better than what I was given there.”

Daud seemed taken aback by the vitriol in his voice. Corvo huffed and shoved a piece of sausage in his mouth, hoping that that conversation was closed.

“And whoever helped you escape-”

Corvo looked up sharply at that, his retort dying on his lips when Daud held up a hand.

“If you could have escaped from the beginning, you would have,” Daud stated. “So I’m assuming that whoever helped you didn’t care much about making sure that you were fed while you took down everyone who had made your life a living hell.”

“I could still take you down.”

Daud rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’ve proven that.”

“Then why do you care about any of this?”

“Do you have any idea what you look like right now?” Daud asked.

Corvo reached a hand up to his hair, the slightly greasy locks sticking together as he combed his fingers through it. He assumed his face looked little better. He knew the bags under his eyes were a livid purple, having been told so by Lydia. The maid had told him to try and get more sleep, oblivious to what he had been doing in his nights. And the few that he had been able to sleep in, he had woken up with an aborted scream on his lips.

“You look worse than some of the kids I’ve picked up over the years,” Daud continued. “They at least know that sewer water doesn’t count as bath water. Though at least you haven’t eaten rat-”

His words cut off as Corvo shook his head in the negative. Daud shook his head, muttering words under his breath. He motioned something to a Whaler that had gotten up. Two glasses of water were placed in front of them, the Whaler looking at Daud strangely before walking away. Corvo lifted the glass to his eye level, checking for anything that appeared to be floating or dissolving in the liquid. Satisfied that there wasn’t, he took a drink.

A Whaler stumbled against his back, and Corvo fought the urge to flinch away. Daud set his own glass down, taking another bite of his food. Corvo followed his example, cleaning the last of the food from his plate.

“You’re welcome to stay and rest here,” Daud told him.

“I have to go,” Corvo said. “If anything’s happened to Emily-”

“The girl’s safe enough, for the moment,” Daud said. “The new Lord Regent has her locked away somewhere safe. A guard captain by the name of Curnow verified it.”

“I have a duty-”

“Not to die storming your way to her,” Daud said.

Corvo took a breath, covering his mouth when it turned into a yawn. The sudden lethargy surprised him, and he glanced at his half-full drink. Daud raised an eyebrow when he glared at him, but couldn’t hide the self-satisfied smirk that crossed his lips.

“You drugged me,” Corvo accused him.

“Not really,” Daud replied. “Leon stuck you with a sleep dart.”

“Bastard,” Corvo muttered, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“It’s for your own good,” Daud told him as he motioned to someone outside of his sight. “Going up against these people for your girl while half cocked is idiocy, which you’d see if you were in the right state of mind.”

Corvo slurred another epithet against the assassin, which the man shrugged off. Two strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders, lifting him out of his seat. His eyes betrayed him as they transversed somewhere else, slipping closed. One of the Whalers chuckled, and Corvo wished he had the ability to at least punch the man. Or maybe Daud. His thoughts ran together as his fatigue overtook him, the last thing he remembered being the feeling of a bed beneath his cheek.


	14. rise to the sound of revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had been out for six hours when he heard the first alarms screaming, only to be silenced a few minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14: But What If...?
> 
> (flesh and steel, or, Dishonored without the magic)

Hiram Burrows had made a mistake.

Actually, Hiram Burrows had made several mistakes that had led to this moment, but there was only one that Corvo was thankful for. And that was being thrown in Coldridge Prison. The new Lord Regent, as he stylized himself, seemed to have thought that the strongest prison in the Isles would be enough to hold one man.

And he might have been right. Except Corvo wasn’t just one man.

Physically speaking, of course, he was one man. But he was also the Lord Protector, which meant that he had to be ready for whatever could happen to separate him from his charge. (Except for death- oh Jessamine- but there would be time for mourning when the true Empress was on the throne. Until then he had to be strong for both of them, and keep going forward.) And Burrows had thrown him in Coldridge, not remembering or not caring that one of the things that he had to do to become Lord Protector was break out.

His instructors, if they weren’t already cursing him for Burrow’s lies, would have had his head for the two months it took him to escape. Two months of learning the guard rotations and dealing with the “interrogations” that tried to force a false confession from him. In the end it had been a simple matter for him to escape. A small bit of rock shoved through the key mechanism as the guards dragged him out for another round of interrogation, and their lack of caring when they didn’t hear the door click.

He had been out for six hours when he heard the first alarms screaming, only to be silenced a few minutes later.

There weren’t any announcements about his escape, but Corvo heard reports about the ramped up patrols in the Estate District. He had heard that a few of the lesser nobility found themselves turned out of their homes a few days after Corvo’s escape, with the rumor being that they had been harboring him. The peasants had laughed and drank eagerly when Corvo told them the story. There was little love lost between them and the nobles now, especially when they kept getting boxed in by the plague districts.

The first one to ask him for help seemed surprised by his request of information rather than money. She had agreed readily, giving him a key for her apartment and directions on where to find her afterwards. It had been harder than he expected, but soon enough he had the package she wanted. It hummed through the blue fabric that she had wrapped it in, making his bones tremble with its song.

He gave the back to the woman without a second thought. He had no need for the powers that it tempted him with, not when it could give him more in other ways. She told him about High Overseer Campbell, and the dead girls from the Cat. After her there were more, each with their own needs, but offering him the information that he needed in return. In one month on the streets he knew where he needed to go and what he needed to do to bring Emily home safely.

Campbell had been the easiest, distracted by one of his contacts until she choked him out with her scarf. Her sister had started working at the Cat a few months into the Rat Plague to help with the cost of Elixir. Three months ago she had turned up dead, and the Madam had paid her very well to keep her silence. Corvo let her watch as he pressed the Heretic’s Brand to Campbell’s face.

His first victory gave him more than he could have hoped for.

Ellie, now calling herself his right hand woman, began to draw in men and women who had become disenfranchised with the Lord Regent and his policies. Street rats and businessmen, both flocked to them, stories spilling over whiskey and beer. Finally, when pressed for his identity, Corvo told them. Instead of frightening them away, or making them call for the Watch, they accepted him. Four months into the Lord Regent’s reign, and the common people were feeling the strain that he put on them.

The men and women began to tell stories of what was happening, more than what he had gleaned from the small jobs he had been taking for information. The Lord Regent had set a curfew that the rich flouted, while anyone who wasn’t his “personal friend” caught out past then risked being thrown in the Flooded District. The supply of Elixir was so tightly regulated that some people couldn’t even get enough to last them a week. They said that a few people had gone to plead their cases before Parliament, but that they had been accused of trying to spread the plague.

And while Corvo may have had his own reasons for hating the Regent and for wanting him gone, the people gave him even more.

Two weeks after Campbell’s fall from grace, a girl from the Cat came to Ellie. Corvo had been in the next room, preparing a meal. The girl had gasped when she saw him, but the story she spilled outweighed her fear. The Madam had been keeping a girl in the dormitories of the Cat, and she had tried to escape. A few of the girls had heard the child shouting about being the Empress, before a slap from the Madam had shut her up.

Corvo had to force himself not to go to the Cat that night. Instead he waited, gathering enough information and planning for how he would get in. A week after Emily’s attempted escape he entered the Cat with a group of his people, having pooled together what money they could to buy a few of the girls for a night. When the others went off with the girls, Corvo snuck up to the third floor. The girl who had alerted him, Priscilla, handed him a key as she walked down to hide his absence, and whispered instructions of how to get out through a secret door in the basement.

And then he had found Emily.

There was a fading bruise on her face, but oh how it lit up at the sight of him. He let her sob into his jacket for a few minutes, his hand stroking her hair as they trailed off into hiccups. It was easy enough for the two of them to sneak down to the basement level and escape back to the hovel that Corvo had been hiding in. Despite the horrible accommodations, Emily fell asleep immediately.

Once he was sure that she was sleeping, Corvo let out the breath that he had been holding for almost five months. When Ellie came in towards dawn to find him standing guard over his sleeping charge, she said nothing, only going to get things ready for breakfast. When Emily woke up, she woke up to the most domestic thing she had for months, and Corvo couldn’t begrudge her the hand that she kept wrapped around his own.

They had to smuggle her to the back alley bar where Corvo’s group of informants had been meeting. Emily had taken to the people immediately, and they to her. Over the next few days she became the center of their talks, with the businessmen answering her questions and the street rats teaching her to color on the walls and cobblestone.

Out of her hearing, Corvo began planning with adults. Just taking down Burrows would give them nothing. Parliament still believed that he was the one who killed Jessamine, and they wouldn’t take the word of a young girl over a respected member of the government. Ellie was the one to suggest riots in front of Dunwall Tower, just enough to draw off the guard while he snuck in and found any material that could be used to discredit the Lord Regent.

The last mistake Hiram Burrows made was leaving a record of his crimes on an audiograph. Maybe he felt like he was untouchable in the Tower, but when his words rang out over the speakers, Corvo heard the riots grow even louder. He had planned to eradicate the poor, no matter who got in his way.

Corvo almost pitied the man when he saw him die six months later at the new Empress’ command.

 


	15. carry this heavy crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before she could say anything, he seemed to blur in front of her, and she went flying over the railing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15: Free Day
> 
> (companion piece to my Day 4/Chapter 4 prompt Serkonos. Emily's side of events that led to her asking for Daud's help.)

Emily leaned over the rail of the ship, watching the fish play below the waters of the bay. She heard Corvo’s disapproving sigh as she straightened, the sun behind him putting his features in shadow. She gave him a small smile, before doing what he wanted and walking away from the railing.

“I wouldn’t have fallen in,” she told him, stepping into the shade beside him. It was a welcome reprieve from the sun, which had broken from behind the clouds to shine on their ship.”And if I had, it’s not like I can’t swim.”

“I’m more concerned with an assassin deciding you’re a prime target standing in plain view,” her father said.

“Serkonos is one of our staunchest supporters,” Emily reminded him. She gave him a cheeky grin. “Something about the honor of having a Serkonan as Lord Protector?”

“Even so,” Corvo said. He sighed and looked towards the gangplank.

Emily followed his gaze. The captain was talking with the harbourmaster, showing him paper after paper of their reasons to be there. Every few seconds the harbourmaster looked up at her, before busying himself with whatever the captain gave him.

“When did the Duke say he was expecting us?” Emily asked.

“Not until after the fifth bell,” Corvo said. He looked down at her, his lips turning up slightly. “Don’t fidget. It’s unbecoming for an Empress.”

“I just wish they’d finish,” she said. “I haven’t been off this boat in two weeks. I’d like solid ground underneath my feet again.”

“And you will, once the harbourmaster is assured that we are who we say we are.”

“I almost wish we were back in Dunwall.”

“I thought you were happy to get away from Parliament.”

“I’m here because of Parliament,” she corrected him. “The Grand Duke has some matters that he wished me to be aware of. Matters that apparently needed to be discussed in person, rather than through letters.”

Corvo shifted slightly, resting a hand on her shoulder. Emily took a deep breath, letting her annoyance leave her. She gave him a small smile, covering his large hand with her own.

“I’m sorry,” she said. He looked at her strangely, and she rolled her eyes. “You haven’t been back home in over twenty years, Corvo. And you have to deal with my politics instead of enjoying yourself.”

“I’ve lived most of my life in Dunwall,” he replied, giving her a small smile. “And living in Dunwall has had its perks.”

Emily huffed her amusement as the captain walked back to them. The man bowed once he was in range, and Emily schooled her features as she had been taught. She waved for him to stand, allowing a gracious smile to sneak over her features. After all, this was his ship, and she wouldn’t want to seem like she was ungrateful for his transport.

“You may come ashore at your leisure, Your Majesty,” the captain said. “The harbourmaster has called for a vehicle that will take you to your residence.”

“Thank you, captain,” Emily said.

“My pleasure, Your Majesty.”

Emily put her hand in the pocket of her light coat and pulled out a pouch of coins. She pressed it into the captain’s hand, her smile widening as he looked at her in confusion.

“Please, use it to show the crew my gratitude,” she told him. The captain caught her meaning easily, giving her a wink that in any other situation would have had Corvo’s blade at his throat.

“Shall we go then, Corvo?” Emily asked, dismissing the captain. Corvo nodded, following her as she walked off the gangplank. The harbourmaster bowed to her, before tripping in his exuberance to open the car door. Corvo stepped up beside her, shielding her from the man, even as he made it look as if he was giving her a hand up. He shut the door behind her, and scowled when she slid the glass window aside. Rather than argue with her, he went and got in from the other side, grunting at the driver to go.

“Your Majesty, it really is-”

“Corvo, please?” Emily said, cutting him off. He looked at her sharply, but settled back in his seat, tugging on his gloves to hide his annoyance.

The ride was pleasant, even when the people began tossing flowers at the car. She has shut the window at Corvo’s insistence then, but made sure to keep a smiling face out the window. After a half hour’s journey, they arrived at the Royal Residence of Serkonos. The gate slammed shut behind them as the car pulled to a stop. Before Corvo could say anything, Emily was out of the car and heading towards the main doors.

“Emily!” he called after her, getting out of the car.

“Corvo, I haven’t had a bath that hasn’t had some measure of saltwater in it for weeks,” she said, stopping just outside the door.

“If you would permit me to check the grounds, I would feel much better about your safety,” he told her. Emily sighed, but nodded her acquiescence.

He moved to the door, opening them carefully. Emily stood outside, the sun’s rays making her feel a bit hotter than she was used to. The driver unloaded a few trunks from the back of the car, carrying them up to sit at her feet. A startled female yell made Emily turn towards the doors again. At the sound of something metal hitting the floor, she shook her head and entered the residence. A few maids looked up at her entrance, staring at her in surprise before sweeping into hurried curtsies.

“Which way did Corvo go?” she asked, letting a hint of embarrassment enter her voice.

One of the maids tittered behind her hand, pointing towards the stairs with her other. Emily walked up the stairs at a leisurely gait, her hand trailing over the wooden railing as she ascended the stairs. She peeked into a few of the rooms before finding Corvo and a drenched maid in a bathing chamber. Corvo shook his head when she raised an eyebrow at his predicament.

“The house is secure, Your Majesty” he said grudgingly, helping the maid to her feet.

“Thank you, Corvo,” Emily said. The maid squeaked as she recognized Emily, and tried to curtsy.

“Your Majesty’s bath has been drawn,” the maid said, tucking a piece of wet hair behind her ear.

“My apologies for my Lord Protector, Miss ?”

“Teresa, Your Majesty.”

“Corvo, if you would make sure that Miss Teresa is fetched some dry clothes? I would very much like to take that bath.”

“Of course,” Corvo said. He held out his arm for Teresa, who took it with a crimson blush.

When the two had exited her bathing chambers, she closed and locked the door before shedding her clothes. She hadn’t been lying to Corvo when she had said she wanted a bath without saltwater. After scrubbing away the salt that had stuck to her body, Emily let herself relax into the warm, jasmine scented water. She heard a few doors open and shut as she lay in the tub, as well as the sound of someone dragging something heavy through the hall.

Wrapping a blue-dyed towel around her and letting her dark hair tumble down across her shoulders, Emily opened the door and went across the hall to what she assumed were her rooms. The trunk at the bottom of the bed confirmed it as she walked over to the vanity. Sitting on the plush seat, she set about combing her hair, the dark wet strands unknotting easily as she went about her work. There were plenty of pins, allowing for her to put it up in the style she preferred.

Corvo had often told her that she reminded him of her mother when she wore this hairstyle. It had quickly become one of her favorites to wear, although as she had grown older she had started to wear it only when she needed to deal with affairs of state. One of the most important things that she had learned from Corvo, aside from sword fighting and how to wield a crossbow with deadly accuracy, was how to bend the perceptions people had. Evoking the image of her mother, the murdered Empress, had served her well on a few occasions.

“The silver comb would accent you well,” Corvo said. Emily turned around in her seat, adjusting her towel so that it wouldn’t fall as she did so.

“It’s very rude to sneak into a lady’s chambers, Lord Protector,” Emily said teasingly. She picked up the comb he mentioned and threaded it through her hair. She turned in the mirror, nodding her agreement to his reflection.

“I helped your mother change your nappies when you were a baby,” he replied, a hint of humor in his voice. Emily watched as he went to her trunk and pulled out an outfit, laying it on the bed for her. “I believe my being in your chambers is less offensive than that.”

“Very well then, I excuse you,” she said, getting up from her seat. She went over and examined his choice in outfit, letting her shoulder rest against his for the slightest moment. He opened his arm slightly, allowing her to rest against his side, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

“I am very much relieved,” he said, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. Emily smiled into his jacket. He had changed since their arrival, but the scent of brine seemed stick to his clothes more than it had when they were at sea.

“‘Corvo, is something wrong?” she asked. His hand tightened minutely on her shoulder before he forced himself to relax.

“I had a visitation,”’ he said plainly. Emily frowned, pulling away to look into his face.

“From _him_?”

Corvo nodded, his eyes staring off into the distance. Her frown deepened as she stepped out of his embrace. Emily grabbed his left hand and tugged off the glove, her fingers tracing the mark on the back of it. It warmed under her touch, the faintest golden glow spiraling out from the paths her finger marked.

“I have a bad feeling,” he told her, taking the glove and putting it back on.

Emily said nothing, taking the outfit he had laid out and going over to the room divider. Pulling on her clothes, she adjusted the collar of her jacket and buckled it tightly across her chest. The neckline spilled over slightly, but she knew from experience that it looked good, the black and gold complementing the blue of the jacket.

“Should we cancel?” Emily asked, stepping out from behind the divider.

Corvo shook his head. “It might be nothing.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“I don’t know,” Corvo admitted.

He ran a hand through his short hair, before rubbing it across his trimmed beard. He looked at her, his face softening. Emily turned on her heel, letting him see the entirety of her outfit. A smile crept across his face as she stepped closer to him.

“Fine enough to meet a Grand Duke?” she asked.

“Anything he wore would look as if he got it from a second hand tailor,” Corvo assured her and held out his hand. She took it, giggling when he twirled her again.

“And you look dapper,” she said.

“Dapper?” he asked. A look of mock outrage crossed his face, only for him to snort and pull her into a hug. Emily wrapped her arms around his chest and returned it. All too soon he released her. The dark thoughts seemed to have returned to the forefront of his mind as she noticed the furrow of his brow.

“Corvo- _Father_ ,” she said. He looked at her, and if anything, the fear on his face became more apparent. “Duke Theodanis is a good man, you said so yourself. He will not let any harm come to me when I am in his house.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Corvo agreed. He reached into his jacket and withdrew his folding blade, pressing it into her hands. She took it and stepped away, tossing the hilt and catching it as the blade extended. Emily repeated the motion, before putting it inside her coat.

“Only because you’re paranoid,” she told him. She moved past him to her trunk, pulling out a pair of leather boots. She sat on the bed and pulled them on. Corvo watched her, obviously struggling to make a decision regarding her.

“I need you to memorize these streets,” he told her as she stood. Emily nodded, smoothing her jacket and making sure that the outline of the folding blade couldn’t be seen.

“If you insist.”

“15 Lemcrow Nook, 45 Maddaus Arch, and 23 Cedarcroft Alley,” he said. When she nodded, he shook his head. “Repeat them back to me.”

“15 Lemcrow Nook, 45 Maddaus Arch, 23 Cedarcroft Alley,” she recited back to him. “Why those addresses?”

“They’re safe houses,” he told her. “If anything happens, you get to one of them. Promise me?”

“I promise,” Emily agreed. She reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her nose wrinkling when his beard brushed against her nose.

A knock came at the door.

“Your Majesty, the Duke has sent a car to take you to his residence,” Teresa’s said. “Shall I tell the driver to wait in the kitchen while you ready yourself?”

“There’s no need, Teresa,” Emily said, walking to the door. She opened it, pretending not to notice the maid’s interested look when she spied Corvo inside the room with her. “We’re ready now.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Corvo fell in behind her as they left the royal residence. The car ride to the Duke’s mansion was almost as long as the ride to their residence, but even more of the common people had turned out along their route. Emily watched Corvo’s fingers curl into his trousers as flowers were thrown at the vehicle. His apprehension, while noble, did not stop her from waving at the people as they passed.

She waited in her seat as Corvo got out of the vehicle and came to open her door. He helped her down, falling in at her left side as they walked up to the main doors. Emily heard the faint sounds of music from somewhere inside the house, and groaned internally. The Duke had said nothing of a party, and while she was dressed appropriately according to her station, she had been prepared for a business meeting.

“Your Majesty?” a man said, coming up to greet them as they entered. Emily gave him a short nod. “Duke Theodanis has asked if you would be amenable to a reception in his private study.”

“Of course,” she said. “If you would lead the way?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the butler said, leading them up a flight of stairs.

The sound of music grew louder for a moment as they walked, before fading to little more than background noise. Emily kept a calm smile on her face, but shot a look at Corvo, who had let his hands fall to his sides, open and ready to disarm someone if they came near her.

“Is the Duke hosting a party?” Corvo asked, saving her the worry of being rude and asking herself.

“His son, Luca, actually,” the butler said. Only years of courtly training let Emily keep her mask as the butler sniffed in distaste. “His father indulges him.”

“His heir, correct?” Emily asked. The butler nodded.

“Yes, after Justus’ demise,” the butler replied. He came to a stop beside a large wooden door, knocking twice.

“Yes, yes, come in,” came a call from inside.

The butler opened the door, holding it as she entered. “Her Majesty, Empress Emily Kaldwin,” he announced. When Corvo stepped in behind her, he quickly added, “And her Lord Protector, Corvo Attano.”

The first sight of Duke Theodanis had Emily almost at ease with the older man. He had been standing with his back to her, reaching up to put a book on a shelf. Within a second of her announcement he had set it aside, sweeping into a bow for her. Emily smiled, stepping forward and extending her hands to him, which he gathered up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Corvo walked around the room, checking for any hiding spaces, signalling to her that there were none with a shake of his head.

“Duke Theodanis,” Emily said warmly. “Thank you for inviting me to your home.”

“If only you’ll accept my apologies at being a poor host,” he replied. “Please, have a seat.”

Emily sat in one of the plush chairs next to a small coffee table, her ankles crossing as he took the one across from her. She felt, more than saw Corvo take up a position behind her chair. Theodanis’ raised eyebrow only made her smile a little larger as his eyes flicked between the two of them.

“I don’t know why they would be necessary,” she said graciously.

“Oh, fah,” Theodanis tutted as he leaned back in his chair. “My son begged to hold a party, otherwise I would have received you on the veranda. It has, I am told, a wonderful view of the sea.”

Emily looked around the study, taking in the multitude of books. “I would have to disagree, Your Grace. I’ve found that a man’s study is the perfect place to judge his character.”

To her surprise, Theodanis laughed at her quip. “You have your mother’s wit.”

“So I have been told,” she said, letting a real smile take over her face.

“And, I hope, your mother’s discretion?” he asked.

“Some would say that my mother was less than subtle in that regard,” Emily parried.

“So it would seem,” Theodanis agreed. He looked to Corvo, his expression grim for a moment, before his eyes turned back to her. “If I may ask, may we conduct the rest of these talks in private, Your Majesty?”

“Emily,” Corvo hissed.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Emily said. “Corvo, please stand guard outside the doors.”

“Emily, I do not believe-”

“You assured me that there were no other ways into this room,” she told him. He sighed, but nodded. When the door clicked shut behind him, Theodanis let out a sigh, sinking even further into his chair.

“I have a grave favor to ask of you,” Theodanis confessed. He got to his feet and went to his desk, pulling out a pile of papers. Handing them to her as he came back over, he collapsed in his chair again. He seemed much older than he had been just moments ago when Corvo was in the room.

Emily looked over the papers he had given her. As she read through it, her brow furrowed, and she switched back and forth between a few of the pages. She looked up at him in disbelief, setting the papers on the table between them.

“You want to change the line of your succession?” she said.

Theodanis nodded. “My son, Luca, is not fit to inherit. He has his vices, as every young man does. But I cannot rest peacefully knowing that he will take my place when I die.”

“That’s surely not for many years,” Emily said.

“You flatter me,” Theodanis replied. “But I am already past my seventy-fifth year. This is something I must worry about.”

“And you wish for your brother-”

“Half-brother,” Theodanis interjected. “My father married again after my mother’s death.”

“Your half-brother to inherit,” Emily corrected. She paused, a small frown crossing her face. “How old is your brother?”

“Fifty-one,” he said.

“Are you sure that your son would be a bad choice?” Emily asked, picking up the papers again. “Responsibility has a way of changing a person-”

“We are not all like you, Your Majesty,” he said with a small chuckle. “I know my son. Luca would destroy everything I and my fathers have built in Serkonos.”

“And you want support from the Crown in case Luca tries to claim that his uncle is usurping him.”

“Yes.”

Emily sat back in her chair, her hands folding together on her lap. “You put me in a perilous situation with this.”

“I am not the first father to leave his estate to someone other than his son,” Theodanis replied.

“Even with my support, Luca would be able to challenge this change,” she told him. “And he may be able to sway some support as a spurned son.”

“I would still ask it of you.”

“I am in Karnaca for the next month,” Emily said. “If you would allow me that time to consider, I will give my answer before I leave.”

“Of course, of course,” Theodanis said, gathering the papers. “If I may make a suggestion of places-”

A knock at the door interrupted him. It swung open, a young man with blond hair swaggering in. Corvo entered behind him, his face stony as he watched the man.

“Father, Cyril said you had a guest,” the man said. “If you wanted to invite them to the party, you could have said so. There’s always room for more friends.”

“Luca,” Theodanis said, standing. Emily followed his lead, her face mirroring Corvo’s, if a touch more forgiving. “May I present Her Majesty, Emily Kaldwin.”

To his credit, Luca dropped into a low bow at her title. “Your Majesty,” he murmured. Emily held out a hand, and he pressed a kiss to it. He dropped it just as quickly, turning back to his father. “You both must come to the party,” he said. “It will be the spectacle of the season if Her Majesty would attend the Duke’s soiree.”

“Your party, not mine,” Theodanis corrected him. Luca seemed to take it in stride, a small flash of something crossing his features which Emily barely caught. He turned to Emily, his features almost sheepish. “If you would like, Your Majesty, I would be happy to escort you.”

“I could never turn down such a polite request,” Emily said.

“Splendid,” Luca said. “I’ll go have Cyril ready to announce you both.”

With that, he swept back out of the study, paying barely a glance at Corvo. Theodanis seemed to sag as he left. He went over to a small end table where a tumbler and two glasses sat. Popping the cork out of it, he poured himself a glass, lifting the other towards her. Emily shook her head. Theodanis threw back the drink, wincing as he swallowed.

“Shall we, Your Majesty?” he asked, holding out his arm. Emily took it with a smile, letting him lead her out of the study, Corvo trailing behind.

“It was nice of Luca to invite me,” she said as they descended to the first floor. Theodanis scoffed, which turned to a hacking cough.

“The boy just wants to impress his friends,” he said dismissively. “Having Emily Kaldwin attend a party will give him standing that he can ride for months.”

“Such is the life of an Empress,” Emily replied. “The parties are the only consolation prize.”

“Just so,” Theodanis agreed. He coughed again as the butler, Cyril, opened the door for them.

Emily looked around in surprise. While she had known that the Duke’s mansion was carved into the cliffside, she hadn’t expected his so-called veranda to overlook the ocean itself. A thin railing was all that separated the party guests from a large fall. Corvo slipped around to her right side, and she watched his eyes go to the guards who stood at regular intervals around the party. His fingers flexed minutely, only to stop when she laid her hand on his arm.

“Her Majesty, Emily Kaldwin the First, Empress of the Isles,  accompanied by His Grace, Theodanis Abele, the Grand Duke of Serkonos.”

The entire party paused at their introduction, people rising out of their chairs. Emily and Theodanis stepped down into the garden area, the people parting like waves before them. When they finally regained their senses and began to bow, Emily couldn’t help but smile.

“Forgive our intrusion,” she said warmly, gathering a few laughs from the crowd. Her words seemed to diffuse the crowd, and they went back to what they were doing, a few sending glances her way.

“Would you care for a drink?” Theodanis asked her.

“No, thank you,” Emily replied, removing her arm from his. Theodanis nodded, taking her dismissal and heading towards the bar.

For her part, Emily headed towards the railing. The fact that it was the only thing that kept people from falling off, and yet people were so at ease around it, intrigued her. She laid her hand on it as she came close, surprised to find that it was wood. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Corvo a few handbreadths away, close enough to grab her if she were to fall over.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

Emily turned to the man who had walked up beside her. His dark brown hair was slicked back, and a thin moustache sat above his lip. He sat a glass on the railing, holding his hand out to her.

“Kirin Jindosh,” he introduced himself. “You’re standing next to one of my first creations.”

“You created a railing?” Emily asked in disbelief, shaking his hand. He laughed and shook his head.

“Try and throw my drink over,” he told her.

Emily raised an eyebrow, but took his drink and threw it with all her might. Nothing happened, and the glass fell to the sea below. Kirin frowned, bending down to examine the railing. He scoffed and shook his head in disgust.

“Is something wrong?”

“Someone hasn’t been keeping up the maintenance,” he said. “I apologize, Your Majesty. Here I thought I would be showing you one of the wonders of modern science, and instead I look the fool.”

“I feel as if I should apologize for losing your drink.”

He waved it away. “I would have lost it anyway, if the railing had worked as it was supposed to. Excuse me, I must talk to someone about this. It’s not as safe as they thought it was.”

Taking his implied advice, Emily walked back into the crowd, scanning for Theodanis. She spied him next to the bar, sipping a drink. Corvo’s hand on her arm stopped her, and she turned to face him.

“Emily, something isn’t right,” he said in low tones. “I must insist we leave as soon as possible.”

“All right,” she agreed, seeing the seriousness in his face. “Let me say my goodbyes to the Duke, and we can leave.”

Corvo stuck closer to her as they made their way over to the Duke. As they got closer, Emily frowned. Theodanis looked worse than he had been before she had sent him off, with a ruddy pallor creeping over his face. When he saw Emily, he smiled, ushering her to take a seat next to him. She shook her head, and he got to his feet.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” she said as he stood. “I’m afraid I must leave.”

“If you must, you must,” Theodanis told her. “I think I might-”

“Your Majesty, leaving already?” Luca asked, sliding up next to his father. Emily nodded, surprised when Luca’s smile gained a hard edge.

“I’ve had a long day,” she said.

“Well, I’m sure that it will end quite differently than you expected,” Luca replied.

Before Emily could ask what he meant, she saw a flash of silver in his hands. Instinct, drilled into her by Corvo for years, had her drawing the folding blade he gave her before they came to the Duke’s mansion. But instead of coming at her, Luca turned the knife on his father, driving the blade into the man’s chest. Emily let her sword hand drop, shielding her face from the spray of blood as Luca ripped the knife out.

“She’s killed him!” he shouted, confusing her for a moment.

Luca pressed his hand to his father’s chest, blood covering his already splattered hands and hiding his guilt. The blade he had used was gone, leaving the only weapon out the blade in her hand. Emily looked around, taking note of blood spattered on her clothes. She glanced down at Theodanis, only to see the man gasp his last breath. For a moment the scene shifted and she saw her mother in his place.

“Emily, we have to leave,” Corvo said in her ear, his hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t let her get away!” Luca shouted.

Corvo herded her towards the main doors, only to pull her back when two of the Grand Guard moved to block them. Corvo shoved her to the side as one of them struck at her with his sword, the blade instead chipping stone. Clearing her mind, Emily put her blade in a guard position when he went to strike again.

She parried him, her left hand cocking back to punch him in the nose. He went down clutching it, dropping his sword. Emily bent down and retrieved it, tossing it to Corvo, who had been dodging around his opponent, using what looked like a platter as a shield. He caught the blade easily, turning it around and hamstringing his opponent. As the man screamed, he used the hilt to knock him unconscious.

More Guards came towards them, and they found themselves herded towards the railing. Corvo glanced at her, and she saw the hopelessness of their situation in his eyes. Against three or four, they might have been able to escape. There were easily ten, each of them fresher than either of them.

“Surrender, Emily Kaldwin,” Luca said, the Grand Guard parting enough for them to see him. “You must answer for what you’ve done.”

“You’re threatening an Empress,” Corvo said, stepping in front of her. “I’d think carefully before I continued if I were you.”

“She’s obviously gone mad,” Luca said, tearing up slightly. If Emily hadn’t known the truth, she might have been taken in by his words. “Her mother’s death-”

“Don’t you speak of her,” Emily said, her words cutting him off. He looked at her, contempt visible on his brow.

“You’re in no position to bargain, Lord Protector,” Luca replied, ignoring her. “There’s no way for you to escape.”

Emily saw Corvo tense, his shoulders straightening. He looked over his shoulder at her, and she saw a flash of regret in his eyes. Before she could say anything, he seemed to blur in front of her, and she went flying over the railing. As she dropped towards the ocean, she saw him get on his knees, his hands behind his head.

“Find Daud,” he shouted to her.

Emily closed her eyes, waiting to hit the water, only for nothing of the sort to happen. She opened her eyes, looking into a vast blue void. Gravity seemed to reassert itself, and she fell a few feet onto a floating cobblestone street. Emily got to her feet warily, letting her blade collapse in her hand. She stuffed it back inside her coat, her eyes panning around for anything or anyone to give her a point of reference.

_**“It’s happened again.”** _

Emily whirled around, coming face to face with a being that she remembered from her dreams. And from what Corvo told her. The Outsider stared at her, his black eyes seeming to see into the depths of her soul.

 _ **“Someone’s pulled the rug out from under you,”**_ he continued, stepping closer to her. Emily held her ground, refusing to be scared by him. _**“An Empire at your feet, and you’ve lost it all. Be honest did you really deserve any of it?”**_

“Aren’t you the one who let Corvo get it back for me?” she asked.

Something in his face changed for a moment, becoming more feral. This time she took a step back, truly frightened.

 _ **“More important,”**_  he said, ignoring what had just happened, _**“what would you do to get it back?”**_

“I haven’t lost anything,” she argued. The Outsider tilted his head to the side, examining her closely. “And even if I had, I’d take it back from them.”

 _ **“Careful,”**_ he warned, **_“there’s always a price to pay.”_**

Emily gasped as her left hand burned. She dropped to her knees, watching as a mark she had often seen on her father’s hand be duplicated on her own. She looked up at the Outsider, incredulous, before dropping her eyes to the Mark. The Outsider vanished before she could do anything, leaving her there.

Slowly, she got to her feet. Corvo had shown her his powers when she was younger, letting her see all that he could do. Looking around, she saw a few more floating streets, and remembered what Corvo had told her his Blink, as he called it, worked to move him to things that were often outside his reach. She held her hand out in front of her, imagining that she was at one of the other platforms. The Mark glowed golden, but instead of transporting her, thick rope like things appeared around her arm, tugging her off her feet to the other platform. Emily managed to keep her feet under her, stumbling only slightly as they vanished.

After a few more jumps, she found herself at the last platform. She looked around for another one, only to be surprised when the Outsider appeared in front of her again.

 ** _“What you decide will ripple across the years,”_** he said. **_“Blood in the gutters and corruption on the wing.”_**

“Why me?” she asked. The Outsider just looked at her, the smallest hint of a smile on his face.

 _ **“It’ll be fun watching this unfold,”** _  he told her. _**“What will you do with the power I’ve given you? How will you make your mark on this wretched world?”**_

Before she could ask him any more, the world dropped out from under her feet. Emily sucked in a desperate breath, only to take in seawater. Kicking her feet, she struggled towards what she hoped was the surface. Her head broke through the water and she gasped for air. Blinking the water out of her eyes, she looked to see where she was. There was no sight of the cliff that Corvo had thrown her off of. Instead, what looked like a sewer sat in front of her.

Stretching her hand towards the pipe, she pulled herself up to it, the tendrils fading as easily as they had in the Void. The Mark glowed for a few more seconds, bright enough in the dying sunlight that she knew she would need to hide it. Corvo had told her, shortly after she became Empress, that he wore gloves because otherwise people would draw unfortunate implications from the Mark. She hadn’t understood it at the time, the Abbey’s doctrines the furthest thing from an eleven year old’s mind.

Reaching down to her coat, she drew the folding blade and hacked off the edge of it. She took out the lining, wrapping it around her hand and tying it in the tightest knot she could. It wasn’t foolproof, but it would withstand most scrutiny. She hoped.

“Find Daud,” she whispered to herself. She shook her head, unsure of what Corvo had meant. As far as she knew, she’d never met anyone by the name. Another thought broke through, and she had to wonder if they were connected.

“15 Lemcrow Nook, 45 Maddaus Arch, 23 Cedarcroft Alley,” she repeated. Safe houses, she had assumed. Now she had to wonder if they were locations in which to find this Daud.

Bells tolled, snapping her out of her thoughts. As quickly as they started, they stopped. A feeling of dread began to fill her stomach, and Emily got to her feet, reaching again for the power she now held. She pulled herself to the street level, before using it again to jump to the rooftops. Another thing Corvo had taught her, for if she had ever found herself on the run. Pursuers hardly ever looked up, after all.

Emily prayed, even as she ran across the rooftops. She couldn’t bear to lose him too.


	16. i found forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, once a year on the Empress' birthday, Daud would send a bottle to Dunwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16: Get Off My Lawn!

The man came to the vineyard early in the morning, and stood just outside the property line. A few of his people rolled their eyes and ignored him, walking out into the fields to check over their vines. Harvest would begin in the next few weeks, which meant that they had to make sure that the grapes were thriving.

Daud sighed and sat outside the main house, waiting to see if the boy, because anyone that much younger than him was a boy, would come up. Most of their visitors were men and women who sought to buy their harvest, or to see their stock of wines. Whaler’s Wine, a name that had unfortunately stuck after Thomas joked about it, had become rather well known in Serkonos. They had begun to joke about challenging the Tyvian Red, even though their fifteen years of vintage had nothing on three hundred.

Occasionally he sent some bottles to other ports. A few alehouses in Morley, to his surprise, requested a few cases a year. A Serkonan nobleman who had moved to Tyvia bought a bottle a year, having been convinced by Thomas that eventually the wine would pay for itself.

And, once a year on the Empress’ birthday, Daud would send a bottle to Dunwall.

He didn’t know what Corvo did with it. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it was pitched over the side of the Tower to shatter on the streets below.

The boy finally decided to walk towards him. Daud sat back in his chair waiting as he stopped a few feet away from him. That caught his attention. After all, he wasn’t anything more than a old man who decided to buy up some land and create a vineyard. If people visited, they came close enough for a handshake, perhaps even a friendly clap on the back once business was concluded.

If this boy was smart enough to stay out of Daud’s lethal close range attacks, he wasn’t here for wine.

“Can I help you, son?” he asked, affecting the personality that he used for business partners. The boy looked confused for a moment, before he seemed to regain his ground.

“I’m looking for Daud,” the boy said. Daud’s practiced ears caught the hint of a Gristol accent, putting him on edge.

“You’ve found him,” he said easily. He let himself sag a little more in his chair, his hand dropping down to grab a knife that the boy wouldn’t see. “We’ve still got a few weeks until we’re ready to sell anything. Harvest’s a little late this year.”

“I’m not interested in wine,” the boy said. Daud slipped the knife into his sleeve, getting to his feet. He took a step forward, a cruel smirk crossing his face for a moment when the boy stepped backwards. “My name’s Herschel -”

“I don’t care about your name,” Daud cut him off. “I’m interested to know what you want from me.”

“Straight to business, eh?” Herschel said with a forced laugh. Daud raised an eyebrow, and Herschel stopped. He tugged at his collar, and Daud watched the motion for an instant before returning to his face.

Daud let out a sharp whistle, and felt the Whalers who were farther out come closer, most stopping just outside of their visitor’s line of sight. Thomas walked up to Daud, a handkerchief in his hands, cleverly hiding a small blade.

“You need something, sir?” Thomas asked.

“A bottle of last year’s stock,” Daud said, tipping his head towards Herschel. Thomas looked confused, but went into their farmhouse.

“You know of Emily Kaldwin, I assume?” Herschel said. Daud nodded, crossing his arms. “There are some who believe that leaving a child on the throne is a disservice to the Empire.”

“So you want her head?” Daud interjected. Herschel, for his part, seemed displeased with his business being stated so clearly.

“Well, since our recent proposal for a new Lord Regent, to take care of the Empire until she comes of age-”

“I don’t care about your politics,” Daud told him. “Do you want her dead?”

“If Empress Kaldwin were to die, the throne would pass to one of our supporters, yes.”

Daud hummed, his arms dropping to his sides, the knife he had slipped up his sleeve dropped into his hand. Herschel didn’t have enough time to react before Daud transversed behind him and forced him to his knees. The blade at his throat made Herschel stop any attempt at escape. Daud could feel his pulse ratchet up, and a part of him revelled in the feeling of having a man’s life in his hands again.

“Do you know how hard it is to kill an Empress?” Daud asked. Herschel shook his head minutely, the blade nicking his skin. “It took me four months of planning to kill Empress Jessamine. Got a fair bit of coin for it, I’ll admit.”

“Then you wouldn’t have a problem-”

“Hush now,” Daud said, tightening his hand on Herschel’s shoulder. He leaned in close to Herschel’s ear, the man’s breathing growing ragged at his proximity. “It wasn’t worth it,” he whispered in his ear. “And I gave it all up. As repayment for my life.”

“We can pay you.”

“I’m not interested in money,” Daud said, leaning back.

“A title, then?” Herschel said. Daud laughed, releasing him. Herschel scrabbled away, dirt clinging to the knees of his trousers. “Pardons for past crimes?”

“Sir?” Thomas said, coming down from the house, a bottle in his hands. He looked at Herschel, then at the knife in Daud’s hand.

“Thomas, I know it’s a bit early this year, but I think I’m going to send a bottle to our friend. Along with a little gift.”

“A... gift...” Thomas said, his eyes going to Herschel. “I don’t know if the Lord Protector would like him.”

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t,” Daud agreed. “But I do think he’d like to learn all about a plot to kill his charge.”

“You work for them?” Herschel asked, his eyes growing wide with fear. “You killed the Empress! There’s no way-”

His protests cut off as a dart hit him in the neck and he fell to the ground. Daud looked over to where it came from, sighing as a Whaler stepped out from behind a row of vines.

“Sorry, did you want to do that?” Dimitri asked. He went over and nudged Herschel with his foot, snorting when the man began to snore.

“Get some rope and tie him up,” Daud said, shaking his head slightly. “I have a letter to write.”

* * *

Corvo looked at the bound and gagged man in front of him. A bottle of Whaler’s Wine, the fifth he had received in four years, sat on the table next to him, a letter under it. Ignoring the muffled protests from the man, he lifted the bottle and took the letter and opened it.

_Bodyguard_ , it read. _Consider this a gift. Watch the nobles carefully. I’m sure there are others who are a bit smarter with their attempts to kill the Empress._

The note was unsigned, but there was only one man who had ever referred to him by that title. Looking up from the note, Corvo let his eyes harden, even as an easy smile came over his face. The man in front of him seemed even more frightened by this than Corvo’s confusion at finding him in his office.

“Lord Herschel, isn’t it?” Corvo asked. He held up a hand, stopping him from trying to reply through the gag. “I hear you have some things to tell me concerning the Empress.”

Lord Herschel whimpered.

 


	17. a swan song for the ages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She leaned over and pressed a kiss to Billie’s forehead, and pretended not to feel the other woman shudder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16: Femslash Friday
> 
> (have some angsty ex-girlfriends, with bonus ex-Whaler Cecelia, because why not)

_There’s blood on the knife._

Cecelia woke up, shoving a hand between her teeth to stop herself from crying out. She blinked in the darkness, reorienting herself in her bedroom. Her heart continued to beat quickly, and she admitted to herself that she wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight.

Removing her hand from her mouth, Cecelia fumbled with a whale oil lamp. It lit, bathing the room in a warm glow. She looked at her hand, grimacing at the blood that had welled up from her teeth. She stumbled out of her little bedroom, stubbing her toe against a pile of books before making it to her washtub.

Cold water ran over the back of her hand, clearing away the blood. A pack of bandages that she had stowed underneath the sink for this purpose were quickly wrapped around it. Hopefully no one notice when she went to the Hound Pits Pub in the morning. Then again, someone other than Lydia would have to remember that she was there.

_“Please, I can pay you!”_

Cecelia shivered, the memory clearly not ready to leave her just yet. Walking back to her bed, she picked up one of the books, contenting herself with a story, if sleep was going to evade her. And then chucked it when she saw someone sitting on her bed.

The woman caught it easily, setting it on the bed next to her. Cecelia gave herself a moment to catch her breath before she flung herself at Billie. Billie caught her and let her wrap her arms around her. Cecelia buried her nose in Billie’s neck, taking in the familiar scent of gunpowder and salt that always seemed to cling to the Whalers.

“What are you doing here, Billie?” she asked into the other woman’s shoulder. Billie shuddered, making Cecelia pull back to look into her face.

“I made a mistake,” Billie told her. She reached a hand to tug at a piece of Cecelia’s red hair, her eyes going far away. Cecelia moved so that she was off Billie’s lap, and pulled the other woman against her as she leaned back on the wall.

“What happened?” Cecelia asked. She knew that it was better to get the poison out quickly, rather than letting her stew in whatever was bothering her.

“I betrayed Daud,” Billie whispered. Cecelia sucked in a breath, but let it out slowly, knowing that if she started to panic, Billie would clam up.

“So, he’s dead then?”

Billie shook her head, ducking so that she could lean it against Cecelia’s shoulder. “He’s alive. A little banged up from the Overseers-”

“Overseers?”

“I really screwed up,” Billie said. Cecelia nodded, resting her cheek against Billie’s hair. “I thought that he was slipping. Ever since the Empress-”

“The Empress?” Cecelia asked. Things fell into place for her, and she couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her. “Billie, please tell me he didn’t.”

Billie looked up at her and shook her head slightly. Cecelia closed her eyes, feeling her heart rate ratchet up again. Billie raised her hand, resting it lightly against Cecelia’s cheek and wiping away the tear that fell from her eye. Cecelia opened her mouth to say something, only to shut it again and shake her head.

“Were you a part of it?” she finally whispered. Billie shook her head.

“No, I wasn’t,” Bille said. Cecelia shook her head, looking away from her.

“Emily can’t sleep because-” she cut herself off, knowing already that she had given too much away.

“The Empress’ daughter?” Billie asked, surprise in her voice. “You know where she is?”

Cecelia shook her head. Billie reached her hand and pulled at her chin. Cecelia turned towards her again, letting her see the fear that was clear in her eyes.

“Daud could kill her,” she said. “And Corvo... if he knew about me, knew what I could do-”

“You never worked against him,” Billie assured her.

“Tell that to the noble I killed,” Cecelia said, her chin sinking forward. “If any of them knew... Daud hasn’t asked me to get anything for him since before the... before she died, but if they knew-”

“Come with me, then,” Billie said. Cecelia looked at her strangely. “I have to leave the city. Daud doesn’t want me near him, for obvious reasons. Run away with me.”

“And break my heart again?” Cecelia said mercilessly. Billie flinched back from her.

“It was for your own good, Cece,” she said. “You left us.”

“You said it would be better for me. That I wasn’t cut out for that life!”

“I wasn’t the one who didn’t talk to anyone for three months after her first kill,” Billie shot back. “Everyone knew you weren’t our kind of fucked up.”

“Daud accepted me,” Cecelia said. “I’m... I was useful to him.”

“You let him use you to find out ways to kill people,” Bille said. “That’s not the same kind of thing.”

“And what, you used me too?” Cecelia asked. “Say you care for me and then break my heart?”

“Cece-”

“I can’t,” Cecelia said. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to Billie’s forehead, and pretended not to feel the other woman shudder. “I loved you, Billie.”

“And I love you,” Billie told her. Cecelia felt a sad smile cross her lips, and shook her head.

“I met someone,” she said. Billie took a deep breath, and part of her ached at the sound.

“Is she nice?”

“He’s a little strange,” Cecelia said. Billie looked at her, an eyebrow raising. Cecelia shrugged, and pretended not to notice when she wiped away a tear. “And I don’t think he’s good at recognizing it.’

“Then he’s a fool.”

“I hope not,” Cecelia said.

Billie didn’t say anything to that.

“Can I stay with you for the night?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Will you stay with me?” Billie said. “Just for the night?”

Cecelia said nothing, but maneuvered them so that they were lying down side by side. Billie snuggled in closer to her. Eventually, her breathing evened out into a deep sleep. Cecelia stayed awake, staring at the ceiling and counting the minutes until she was expected at the Pub.


	18. i'm shoulder deep in water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was only human after all, and had admitted to himself that he had a thing for people in power a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18: Slash Saturday
> 
> (Outsider/Corvo, companion piece to Day/Chapter 12)(light smut)

The bell tolled midnight when he reached his room. Corvo sighed, stripping off his jacket and tossed it over a chair. The letters from nobility were tiring, even more so when he tried to answer them in ways that wouldn’t make them send assassins for Emily. His boots were kicked off as he sat on the bed, landing somewhere near his jacket. He hoped.

Corvo groaned as he flopped onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. The Outsider’s visit had been a welcome reprieve, no matter that he hadn’t been able to focus on his papers for twenty minutes after his visit.

He still wasn’t sure if it had really happened. Maybe he had let himself daydream, and the Outsider was the first man... person to come to his mind. He was only human after all, and had admitted to himself that he had a thing for people in power a long time ago. Jessamine had found it adorable, but Corvo was fairly certain that the Outsider wouldn’t find it interesting.

He let out another groan, turning his face to the side to get air. He closed his eyes, trying to force the idea out of his mind. To not imagine slender fingers trailing up his back, tracing over his shoulders. Or a hand on the back of his neck, exerting just enough pressure to hold him still as another hand moved across his stomach.

Corvo’s eyes flew open. He tried to turn his head, only to have it held in place. The hand on his stomach pressed in slightly, a gentle warning not to move. The sensation of another body on his bed made Corvo freeze as he waited for confirmation of who it was.

**_“You’re very tense,”_** the Outsider said. Corvo shivered as the black eyed deity’s hand wandered up from his stomach, tracing his nipple through his shirt.

“I wasn’t expecting you would come.”

That seemed to amuse him. The hand on his chest moved back across his stomach, then dipped lower. Corvo bit his lip, but let out an annoyed growl when the Outsider placed his hand on his thigh. The hand on his neck tightened for a moment, before releasing him. Corvo turned to face the god, who looked at him with something akin to fondness.

**_“Why would I not?”_ ** he asked, replacing his hand on Corvo’s thigh.

“It’s not interesting?” Corvo said, hating the question in his voice. The corners of the Outsider’s lips lifted slightly, and he slid his body closer to Corvo’s.

**_“Is this not interesting?”_ ** the Outsider asked as he moved his hand to cup Corvo through his trousers. Corvo sucked in a breath, his head moving back on his pillow. **_“Your body reacts in such interesting ways. For instance...”_**

A strange feeling swept over his body, and Corvo shuddered, his eyes falling closed. The feeling of sheets against his bare skin made him open them again. The Outsider’s black eyes held his for a moment before trailing down his body.

Corvo found himself returning the favor. The deity was hairless, as far as he could tell. His eyes lingered on the Outsider’s cock, as pale as the rest of him except for the light pink that dusted the head. He wanted to kneel down and take it in his mouth, to find out if he tasted like the ocean.

He gasped as the Outsider took him in his hand. He wasn’t hesitant, his hand stroking up and his wrist twisting slightly as he took it off. Corvo made an annoyed sound when it disappeared, his eyes meeting those of his god. Something had softened in the Outsider’s eyes, and he moved closer to him, his breath ghosting over Corvo’s lips as it had earlier that evening.

**_“Every time I touch you, you make such delightful noises,”_** he continued. **_“If I could keep you for myself, I would want to hear you make them for an eternity, I believe.”_**

Corvo moved forward before the Outsider could say anything else, pressing their lips together. He opened his lips and pressed his tongue against the Outsider’s, moaning when he granted him access. All too soon he had to move away, gasping for air with the taste of saltwater in his mouth. A mischievous grin crossed the Outsider’s face as he pressed a kiss to Corvo’s jaw, and his hand returned to his cock.

He was slow as he moved his hand, and Corvo moved his hands down to join him, to show him what he liked. The Outsider caught his hands with one of his own, pulling both of them up against his chest. Corvo tried to move them away, only to find that the Outsider did possess a godly amount of strength.

**_“You are impatient,”_** he said. **_“So different from other times I’ve seen you.”_**

“You watched me?”

**_“I heard you call my name,”_** the Outsider said. Corvo took a deep breath as he quickened his movements. **_“And I wanted more.”_**

“You could have-”

**_“I didn’t know.”_** he said. **_“Until Emily said anything, I didn’t know that you were so inclined.”_**

“I thought you knew everything,” Corvo said. A feeling was building in his chest and groin, and he knew it wouldn’t be long.

**_“The minds of common men are often known to me,”_** he agreed. **_“But you, my dear Corvo, have never truly been common, have you?”_**

Corvo shook his head, unable to deny it as he tensed. The Outsider’s grew predatory as Corvo’s come painted both of their chests. He released Corvo’s hands, letting him relax bonelessly into the bed. Corvo’s eyes almost closed as he watched the Outsider lift his fingers to his mouth, licking the come off of them. He wanted to return the favor, but the Outsider pushed his hands away when he tried.

_**“Sleep, my dear Corvo,”**_ he told him.

Corvo, a happy fatigue coming over him, couldn’t find it in himself to disobey.


	19. a rose of obsidian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crowd seemed to stand still for a moment, the people around her slowly backing away as they noticed the crossbow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19: Dishonored 2
> 
>  
> 
> _(follows my two previous prompts that take place in my speculations of Dishonored 2, Days 4 and 15. Can be read standalone, but some of the mentions might make more sense if you read those first.)_

She realized that they were doing this to lure her out into the open. Daud had said as much, before sighing as calling her as bullheaded as her father. He was still trying to get a rise out of her, to get her to admit that Corvo was her father. It hadn’t worked for her court, and his thinly veiled implications were harmless. If he had just asked, she might have told him, but she had the feeling that he enjoyed attempting to make her slip up.

Emily sighed from where she was positioned in the crowd. Most of the people around her were fidgeting, a few talking in low whispers to one another. It was nothing like what she had been told Karnaca was like. Corvo had always said that the people of Serkonos were loud, even when talking to their neighbors. But, in the mass of people before the gallows that the new Duke, Luca Abele, had constructed, there was very little conversation.

It hadn’t been hard to get into the crowd. She knew a few of the Whalers had hidden among the people as well, but none of them had let her know where they were or what they were wearing. Too many people looking at one another, Daud had told her during training, made the people you were hoping to avoid take notice. Any sufficiently paranoid man or woman would have their own spies in the crowd, looking for anyone who seemed the slightest bit off. Then they would hustle them off, out of the crowd, to where some of the new Grand Guard would take them off to be executed in a side alley.

Emily fought the urge to pull up the neck of her shirt and hide her face. Daud had despaired when she had gone and taken care of her first target. He had made a comment about finding her father’s mask and making it a family tradition. When she told him that they had tossed it away after a few years of her rule, he looked at her as if she was insane. Perhaps she was. While the sickness that was sweeping through the skies of Karnaca was troubling, it was nothing like the rat plague. A simple mask was enough to shield her from getting sick.

A rumble from behind the gallows drew everyone’s attention. Emily forced herself to remain as calm as she could, even as Luca Abele mounted the stairs to the gallows. It would be so easy to take him out now with a well aimed crossbow bolt, but she didn’t want to kill him.

Not unless he did something to push her over the edge.

“People of Karnaca,” Luca said, his voice booming over the crowd. Emily looked around for the speakers that he must have hidden away, but didn’t see them. It was clever, she had to admit, and gave him more of a presence in the crowd than standing on a stage ever would.

“Today, we are here to witness the execution of a man who has betrayed not only a loyal Duke, but also one who has conspired to kill him with a violent young woman. A woman who we once heralded as an Empress, but who now has sought to destroy the government we have lived under for so long.”

Emily rolled her eyes, but watched the people around her. A few of them seemed to be swayed by Luca’s words, but most were looking at him with distrust. The new Duke had not done much to endear himself to his people, with daily executions on side streets for infractions that were implemented into law before the people could realize.

“Bring out the prisoner!” Luca called.

Emily tensed, reaching for a weapon before she forced her hands to her sides again. As a man with a black bag was led out onto the stage, she noticed the faint sound of music, the strains making the Mark on the back of her hand burn.

“Overseer’s musicbox,” a man’s voice behind her whispered. She didn’t turn around, but nodded her head.

“Will it be a problem?” she asked.

“Not particularly,” Daud said. “You won’t be able to use that Reach of yours to get away, but the ensuing commotion should be enough for you to run a few streets over to a safehouse.”

“And the Whalers?”

“They know what to do,” he assured her.

Luca ripped the bag off of the man’s head, revealing Corvo’s face. Emily bit her lip, noticing the cuts that decorated it, as well as the fading bruise on his jaw. Daud let out a low whistle behind her. Whether in respect for what the torturer had done to Corvo, or because Corvo was still standing upright, she didn’t know. Didn’t want to know, either. While she and Daud had come to an uneasy agreement, at least on her part, it didn’t mean that she didn’t know what he had done for a living.

“Witness this man, a traitor to the Empire and the land who birthed him,” Luca said.

He reached for the noose, settling it around Corvo’s neck like an obscene necklace. Emily saw Corvo say something to him, and Luca’s veneer broke for a split second. Corvo smirked, then looked out over the crowd. He wouldn’t have been able to see her, but the smile on his face made her lips quirk up as well.

With a gesture from Luca, the hangman threw open the trapdoor beneath Corvo’s feet. In the seconds before the rope snapped taut, Emily drew her crossbow and fired. The rope snapped and the arrow continued its flight. The crowd seemed to stand still for a moment, the people around her slowly backing away as they noticed the crossbow. Emily let her smile grow wider as Luca sighted her through the crowd before she tugged her mask up.

By the time she had dashed to the stage he was gone. She had expected it, just like she had expected the guards who had come up to meet her. Both went down before she could even react, sleep darts working their own kind of magic. She glanced down into the trapdoor, shaking her head when she saw Corvo standing there, the chains that had been around his wrists sitting on the ground.

“Are you coming, old man?” she asked. Corvo rolled his eyes, leaping up and grabbing the edge of the trapdoor. He pulled himself up easily enough, but rubbed his shoulder as he stood on the wooden platform again.

“Dramatic timing,” he said. Emily shrugged, looking up to the rooftops. One of the Whaler’s saluted her and tossed a chokedust grenade towards the guards that were advancing to the stage. More from the other Whalers served to stir the crowd, men and women running every which way to avoid any conflict that may come.

Not that she was planning on anything of the sort happening.

“Can you run?”

“For you? Of course,” he said.

“Good,” she replied. “Follow my lead.”

Corvo nodded, landing lightly beside her as she jumped off the gallows platform. A guard attempted to stop them, and Emily slammed the hilt of her folding blade into his skull. He went down, and they continued on. The side street she took them on hadn’t been crowded by the fleeing civilians, and the ones who were on it cleared out of their way. Twisting down another street, Emily pulled Corvo into an alcove. She rapped on the seemingly solid wall, and heard a click as her pattern was recognized. Lacing her fingers with his, Emily led him into the safehouse.

He wrapped her in a hug as soon as the door was closed behind them, uncaring of the Whaler who was watching them. Emily buried her face in his shoulder and returned the hug. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, like he had two weeks ago before this nightmare started.


	20. when the hounds are out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had seen them tear into men and women infected with the plague at their master’s orders, their teeth sinking into flesh and snapping bone easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20: Wolfhounds

It was obviously an attempt from Martin to get back into the Empress’ good graces. The worst part is that it was _working_.

“Isn’t he pretty, Corvo?” Emily asked. The beast in question was sitting at her side, it’s head in her lap. As she scratched it behind the ears, it’s tongue lolled and it’s back leg twitched.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

Callista raised an eyebrow at him from where she sat, catching his tone. Corvo let out a breath, letting an easy smile come over his face. She nodded, turning the page in the book Emily was supposed to be reading. The hound had completely derailed the lesson, as it had for the past two weeks. If it wasn’t in the room with Emily, it was sitting right outside the door and whining. Eventually one of them, usually Callista, would crack, and let the beast in.

On one hand, Corvo knew that the hound was good for Emily. Her nightmares had almost stopped, for which all of the staff was grateful. Corvo had known that they would come back once they moved into Dunwall Tower again, but no one had been expecting the severity. Until the hound had come, either Callista or himself had sat with the young Empress through the night. It hadn’t been a good solution, leaving one of them tired and irritable the next day.

Martin, restored to his position after surviving Havelock’s treachery and earning Emily’s pardon, had heard of the problems. Which meant that Corvo was going to have to get around to talking to the servants again. Some things could leak from the Tower, but something concerning Emily’s health and wellbeing never should have. An opportunistic noble could have taken the chance to do something to hurt her, or those around her, and used the ensuing meltdown to insinuate that Emily wasn’t fit for her position.

To be honest, he wasn’t comfortable with her being Empress so young either. Jessamine had taken the throne at nineteen, after years of shadowing her father. Emily had none of Jessamine’s training, despite Callista’s attempts to teach her. In his heart he knew that this wasn’t what Jessamine had wanted for her daughter. Emily was supposed to have a childhood, not grooming for a throne that she would eventually inherit.

Of course, Burrow’s had cocked up all of that. The man was currently rotting in a cell in Coldridge, next to his replacement Lord Regent. Corvo had gone to see them a few times since their incarceration, mainly to check that they had no possible way to escape. Both men had glowered at him, and he hadn’t felt the need to engage them in conversation. All that needed to be said had been said.

Emily had refused his attempt to get her to accept another Lord Regent. Child though she may be, she had learned enough in the year since her mother’s death. She had seen the greed that came into men’s hearts when they had power, and she was even less likely to accept a woman. The few women that had attempted to prevail on him to convince her had made him see Emily’s side of the equation. The women had seen themselves as taking the place of her mother, teaching her all of the secrets of womanhood.

Emily didn’t want someone to replace Jessamine.

A wet nose pushed itself into his palm, making him jerk away from the hound. While he hadn’t ever had a problem with the hounds, evading them and the Overseers that worked with him had made him wary of the beasts. He had seen them tear into men and women infected with the plague at their master’s orders, their teeth sinking into flesh and snapping bone easily. He had done all that he could to avoid them after that.

“Brutus, don’t bother Corvo,” Emily said.

The hound trotted back to his mistress, curling up at her feet. Emily sighed happily, reading the page that Callista pointed out to her. Corvo walked around the table to the window, looking through the glass to the city beneath them. The plague was more or less cured, with the Watch rounding up the last of the infected and feeding them the cure. The rebuilding of the districts where the infected had been housed would take years, as would the draining of the Financial District.

“Should I send a thank you letter to High Overseer Martin?” Emily asked. He heard Callista sigh, and the sound of a book closing.

“It would be polite,” she said.

Corvo didn’t need to turn around to know that her knuckles would be white on the spine of the book. Emily hadn’t seen what the supposed Loyalists had done to their followers. But Callista had seen Lydia and Wallace shot in front of her, their corpses falling to the ground. Perhaps had even had the gun leveled at her own head. She had never spoken of it to him, and he had never felt the need to ask.

“I’m sure that Martin knows you are thankful for his gift,” Corvo replied, turning back to them.

“But you’re right, Your Majesty,” Callista said, sending a disapproving look at Corvo. He shrugged, letting it roll off of him.

“I’ll go get my stationary!” Emily said, darting out of her chair before either of them could say anything more.

Corvo sighed, but Callista held up a hand to stall him. She got up primly, following the child Empress at a much more sedate pace. He let them go, knowing that Emily would be angry with him if he followed her. It had taken three weeks after she had regained her throne for her to say something to him about being followed everywhere she went. Corvo had acceded to her wishes, in the sense that he wasn’t following her directly. He closed his eyes, calling up his Dark Vision and tracking her through the halls to her room.

Something pressing against his leg had him dancing away, his hand coming up automatically in a defensive position. The hound looked at him, head tilting to the side. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he approached Corvo again, rubbing his head against his leg. Corvo put his hand down, and reached out tentatively to pet the beast. The hound moved when his hand touched it’s head, and Corvo froze, knowing that it could take off the limb before he could stop it.

The hound whined, butting his hand. Corvo repeated his petting motion, this time letting Brutus move his head so that Corvo was petting where he wanted. Feeling a little braver, Corvo knelt down, making his face level with Emily’s canine companion.

“You’ve been good for her,” Corvo admitted, scratching Brutus behind his ear. The hound’s tail wagged, thumping against the ground. “Even if Martin is using you to get into Emily’s good graces.”

Brutus yipped and moved forward, his tongue swiping across Corvo’s cheek.


	21. forbidden dance on fragile skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo reached out and moved her arm so that it was resting at the middle of his back and the other parallel to her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21: Song and Dance
> 
> (Corvo/Jessamine)

It was one of the benefits of being Lord Protector, Corvo mused as he watched Lady Jessamine and her dance instructor, that he got to see the less polished side of the royal family. The instructor, a man by the name of Clyde, was attempting to teach Jessamine some of the traditional dances of the other islands in the Empire. So far, Jessamine had been uncooperative, and if Corvo placed it correctly, intentionally sabotaging the lesson.

“Your Highness,” Clyde said, his voice tinged with annoyance. “The steps for the Morley Reel go step step hop, not hop step hop.”

“My apologies, Instructor Clyde,” Jessamine said, lowering her eyes demurely.

Corvo rolled his eyes and let himself lean against the doorframe. The chamber that they used for Lady Jessamine’s dance lessons was in the interior of Dunwall Tower, where he didn’t have to worry as much about Jessamine’s safety. Unless, of course, she managed to make the instructor snap and try to strangle her.

Clyde sighed, and positioned himself by Jessamine’s side again. She held her hand out, and he took it. There was a pause as both of them turned to face the center of the room. Clyde began to hum a steady beat, and advanced forward in the steps he had told Jessamine. Jessamine did not.

“I’m so sorry,” Jessamine said as Clyde halted again. The older man sighed, and released her hand.

“Perhaps you would prefer to continue this lesson tomorrow, Your Highness?” Clyde asked.

Corvo saw the minute quirk of Lady Jessamine’s lips, the only sign of her satisfaction. He shook his head slightly and looked down at the floor. Her ability to get her way was endearing, as long as you weren’t the one she was using it on.

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” she said.

“One cannot learn how to dance in a single day,” Clyde assured her. “And the first day is often the hardest. Perhaps we both need a rest.”

“Thank you,” Jessamine said.

Clyde bowed and walked out. His eyes caught Corvo’s for a moment, and he rolled them similar to how Corvo had minutes ago. Corvo grinned, replacing it with a stern expression as soon as Lady Jessamine was back in his sight.

His charge was staring at the wall, a dejected slump on her shoulders. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to proceed. They had always been friendly, if not slightly distant. Comforting her was slightly out of his job description, and the warning from her father’s Lord Protector still rang in his ears.

Don’t let them get attached to you. Your job is to protect them, even at the cost of your own life.

The man had seemed sad as he said this. His predecessor, Lord Protector Gersham, had been at the Emperor’s side ever since he had succeeded the previous Empress. As far as Corvo knew, the man had never had a family, or done anything other than guard the Emperor. He was, as far as Corvo could tell, very attached to the Kaldwin family. He didn’t seem to take his own advice, letting Lady Jessamine call him Uncle Gersham. But Corvo had attempted to follow it, even though it made him seem standoffish to some. A few times he had even caught Gersham’s approving nod out of the corner of his eye.

“Why isn’t this easy?” Jessamine asked the empty air. Corvo shrugged, even though the question wasn’t aimed at him. Lady Jessamine would often say such things, never seeming to expect an answer.

“Well, you weren’t really paying attention to what your instructor was saying,” Corvo replied. He frowned immediately after the words left his mouth. Lady Jessamine whirled around, surprise crossing her face as she realized he was there.

“Were you here for the entire lesson?” she asked. Corvo nodded, catching the way that she blushed at his answer.

“To be fair, the Reel is hard to get used to,” he said, trying to soften his words. While Lady Jessamine could not fire him as her Lord Protector, she could make his life a living hell if she so wished.

“Oh, Outsider’s eyes,” she said under her breath. She turned her head to the side, letting her profile catch the light. Corvo cleared his throat as quietly as he could and looked away from her.

The one thing that Gersham had not mentioned was what to do when one became attached to one’s charge. And, while Corvo may have been selected by Lady Jessamine to be her Lord Protector, he had not assumed the role immediately. In the six years since his election to the role, he had only spent the last three as her bodyguard, and allowed to guard her by himself for a year.  

“I don’t understand how it’s harder than a waltz,” Jessamine said. “I can waltz better than half the nobles in the Empire.”

“You’re used to a certain type of movement,” Corvo told her. He took a step forward, then paused. She waved him forward, and he moved closer. “Waltzes have a specific set of movements. And while the Reel may have a pattern, depending on the area you are in it can vary tremendously.”

“You seem to know a lot about dancing, Corvo,” Jessamine said, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“I’m Serkonan, Your Highness,” he replied, affecting an affront in his voice. “Dancing is in our blood.”

“Then surely you could teach me a Serkonan dance?” she asked. “Surely they must be more interesting than what Clyde was teaching me.”

“Oh, certainly,” Corvo replied. He stopped when he realized what he said, and rushed to correct himself. “I mean, they are more interesting, Your Highness.”

“Jessamine,” she said. Corvo gave her a quizzical look, and she laughed. “My name,” she told him, “is Jessamine, not Your Highness. You’re my Lord Protector, not some noble who needs reminding of my station.”

“It wouldn’t be proper-”

“As if you haven’t heard Uncle Gersham call my father Euhorn plenty of times,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. Corvo frowned slightly, and she sighed. “If I give you royal permission, will you please address me as Jessamine in private? It’s the one time I don’t have to be Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess of the Isles, Jessamine Kaldwin the First.”

She said the last in an airy tone, breaking off into a chuckle after she finished her name. Corvo joined her, having heard one of the guards introduce her as such to the court when he was announced as her Lord Protector. Lady Jes- Jessamine smiled in satisfaction at his break in composure.

“But you can teach me, can’t you?” she asked.

Corvo rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the heat that rose in his cheeks. “Traditional Serkonan dances are a little more risque than a reel or waltz, Your High- Jessamine.”

“Rique?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “So it is true that Serkonan’s dress in revealing clothes and perform for friends and,” she paused, clearing her throat as if something had caught in it, “and others?”

“What? No,” Corvo said. “Where did you even hear about something like that?”

“Oh, a book,” she said a little too carelessly. He raised an eyebrow at the light blush that seemed appear on her cheeks, but didn’t call her out on the non-answer.

“The tango places the partners in a closer position than the Gristol nobility would care for,” he relented.

“Well, then it's a good thing you’ll be teaching me, isn’t it?” Jessamine asked. “After all, my Lord Protector is supposed to be close to me at all times.”

If Corvo didn’t know any better, he would have said that Jessamine was flirting with him. He shook off the thought and straightened his posture, his eyes flitting over the room. The door was closed, and it was unlikely that anyone would stumble upon them.

“The first thing you have to do,” he told her, “is know the steps.”

He placed his hand out in front of him, one at shoulder height and one at where a woman’s waist would be. He advanced forward in two slow steps with a quick step forward and a slow step to the right, his left foot dragging lightly across the floor. Jessamine watched him, he noticed as he stood straight again, with more attention than her dance tutor.

“It looks like you’re following a pattern,” she told him.

“And I am,” he admitted. “But until you learn the basic step, you can’t learn to improvise.”

With that, he moved in the same pattern, but paused before the step to his right, his hand following the line of his invisible partner’s arm. He made a twirling motion with his hand before catching the air and dropping his arm back to the position at shoulder height. Corvo returned to his original stance again, and was surprised when Jessamine gave him a smattering of applause.

“So I-” she mirrored what he showed her. Corvo covered his mouth as she danced the steps to hide the smile that came to his lips.

“Not exactly,” he said, stepping closer to her.

He looked into her eyes, asking permission to touch her. Her head bobbed slightly, just enough to let him know that he could. Corvo reached out and moved her arm so that it was resting at the middle of his back and the other parallel to her body. He placed his right hand between her shoulder blades and grasped her right with his left.

“The basic steps are the same,” he told her, beginning the pattern. “But you follow your partner, not lead.”

“And if I want to lead?” she asked. Corvo grinned as they got to the slow step and dropped her into a dip, before beginning again.

“If you can manage to hold me up while doing that, I’ll concede to follow,” he said.

Jessamine smirked, her eyes dropping to the space between their bodies. “I thought you said that the tango required partners to be closer than Gristol respectability.”

“I’m trying to provide a modicum of decorum,” he said.

“And I need to learn correctly,” she challenged him.

Corvo breathed deeply through his nose, and pulled Jessamine closer to him, so that barely a centimeter separated them. He continued through the motions of the dance, now aware of every time her leg grazed his. A few times he heard her breath hitch, but when he looked down at her face she had it facing fully forward. For his own part, he hoped that she could not hear the tempo of his heart.

“Spin me?” she asked.

He could never refuse her. He twirled her, watching the tail of her coat fly out, before catching her easily. The motion brought her chest to his, and she tilted her head up until she was looking in his eyes. Corvo looked away before she could see the hopeless longing in his. He couldn’t bear to make her uncomfortable.A hand on his cheek made him turn back to face her. Her gaze was soft, softer than he deserved. He was in love with the heir apparent, and now she knew. Her lips parted softly, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the rejection that he knew was coming.

The feeling of lips against his made him open his eyes in shock. Jessamine pulled back, her own eyes fluttering open. For a moment there was nothing but stuttered breaths between them. Corvo knew he should pull away and give her the proper distance. He stepped away, unsurprised when she let him. The dance had merely created passions that weren’t there, in her case at least.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” he said, the title slipping out before he could stop it. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Corvo, shut up,” Jessamine told him.

He closed his mouth, and took another step back when she advanced towards him. She cocked her head to the side, a confused look coming across her face. Jessmine took another step towards him, and again he moved away. The confused look turned predatory, and Corvo swallowed. Her eyes followed the line of his throat, before returning to his face.

“You like me,” she said.

Corvo said nothing, knowing that if he denied it he would be lying to both of them. She took another step forward, and when he went to retreat he found a wall at his back. Jessamine laid her hand on his arm, her touch surprisingly gentle.

“Say something, Corvo.”

“I...” he stuttered. “My feelings are irrelevant, Your Highness.”

“Jessamine,” she corrected him.

“Jessamine,” he repeated. Jessamine blushed at his pronunciation of her name, her hand gripping his arm a little tighter.

“Your feelings aren’t irrelevant to me, Corvo,” she said softly, leaning against him. Corvo automatically put his hand on the small of her back to steady her.

“Then I’ve done the unforgivable,” he said. Jessamine looked up at him, confusion again on her face. “I’ve fallen in love with the person I’m supposed to protect.”

“It’s not much of a crime if they love you, is it?” Jessamine asked.

“Do they?” he replied. “If this is just a passing fancy, I’d rather keep my heart safe.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“But you will,” he told her. “Eventually you’ll have to marry some noble, and I’ll have to watch.”

“And if I refuse? What if I only want you?”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I can,” she said. When he shook his head slightly, her hand came up to rest against his cheek. “I love you, Corvo. Ever since I first saw you, I loved you.”

“You were a child.”

“And now?” she asked. “I’m still in love with you.”

“You don’t-”

“Corvo, please,” she said, her thumb passing over his cheek. He looked down into her eyes, and saw only love and affection. “I love you.”

Jessamine reached up, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Corvo let out a low sound, his hand coming up and cupping her chin. Her chin dipped slightly in his hand, and he lowered his mouth to hers.


	22. a liar demands respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin leaned against the wall, his feet dangling off the edge of the cot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22: The Loyalists

His cell wasn’t too shabby, if he said so himself. Yes, there were bars across one wall, but the sheets he was given were comfortable and warm, and he had been fed every day. More than most would expect when they were complicit in the overthrowing of an empire.

Granted, the empire he had overthrown was technically already overthrown. He and the Loyalists had merely decided that their empire was a better option than Burrows’. Not that Corvo had given them the time to prove it, rushing through and rescuing Emily before Havelock had been Regent for more than a week. Martin wished he had been able to see the look on Havelock’s face when Corvo knocked him out.

Although he wouldn’t have minded if the reinstated Lord Protector had cut out the man’s vocal cords. Every few hours Havelock would start rambling about something or other to do with the Empire, and how he could fix everything if he was given back his rightful regency. It had been amusing the first couple of times, but now it was just pathetic. Martin had tried to convince the guard to let him go over to the other man’s cell and shut him up, permanently.

Havelock had attempted to kill him, after all. And Morley men always returned blood with blood.

Thankfully, the former Lord Regent had shut up after only two hours of ranting. Martin had stayed in his cot the entire time, counting off how many times he mentioned Burrows or Corvo. The count for this session reached twenty, not even close to his record of fifty. Granted, Martin had been in the medical ward his first twenty days of incarceration, so it was possible that his record was actually substantially higher.

The sound of a key in the lock of his cell made him sit up. The guard backed away as Corvo entered the cell, closing the door behind him. The Lord Protector flinched as the key turned in the lock, but didn’t say anything as the guard retreated to the front of the cell block. Martin leaned against the wall, his feet dangling off the edge of the cot.

“If you wanted to talk, you could have done it from the other side of the bars,” Martin said after a few minutes of Corvo staring at him. Corvo huffed and rolled his eyes.

“And let Havelock overhear what I have to say?” he replied. “The guards have been complaining to me since he was placed here. I’d rather not give him more to say.”

“So you haven’t come to stare at me?” Martin asked. “And here I was, getting all dolled up for you.”

“Outsider’s eyes,” Corvo said, turning away from him. Martin smirked.

“Black as pitch, they say,” he told him. Corvo’s shoulders tensed, and Martin knew he had hit a nerve. “Not that I would know. What do you think, though? Any truth to the matter?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not,” Martin agreed.

He hadn’t said anything to Havelock when he had seen Corvo doing things that no ordinary man should have been capable of. If the Admiral had known anything of Corvo’s... dabblings in the arcane arts, he would have killed the man in a much simpler way than poison. And if Martin had been a betting man, he would have placed his bets on Corvo doing more than dabbling.

“I didn’t come here to discuss theology,” Corvo said, turning back around.

“There’s always time for a religious discourse,” Martin said. “But we were never the men for it, were we?”

“The Empress has decided to pardon you,” Corvo said through gritted teeth, ignoring the jibe.

“Pardon me?” Martin asked. “And here I thought my head would be rolling in the dirt once the paperwork was sorted.”

“As much as certain parties,” and Corvo was refraining from mentioning himself, which was for his own benefit, he supposed, “would have preferred that you rot in a cell for the rest of your life, the Abbey has been unable to elect a replacement. A few in the Order floated the idea of your return to the position.”

“The higher echelons are rotted and they know it,” Martin surmised. “And for all I tried to overthrow an overthrown rule, I never went against the Strictures. I wonder how that makes some of them feel.”

“There will be caveats, you understand?”

“I would assume as much,” Martin agreed.

“You will be confined to the Abbey for a period of five years,” Corvo recited. He had obviously memorized the speech, having known that Martin would accept. “After the period of five years you will be restricted to Dunwall for another period of five years. Your belongings and mail are subject to being searched and read-”

“Yes, yes, I imagine that would be so,” Martin said. “I’ve agreed, haven’t I?”

“And if you do anything,” Corvo said, leaning over him, “to harm Emily or the throne, I will not hesitate to cut off your head.”

“Clear as crystal, then,” Martin replied. He stood, forcing Corvo to take a step back.

Corvo huffed and went to the door of the cell as Martin dusted himself off. The guard unlocked it, his hand barely inching towards his sword when Martin followed the Lord Protector out. It was short work to formally discharge him, but Martin wasn’t surprised when Corvo personally escorted him to the Abbey. Not that he had planned on trying to escape.

“I suppose having the High Overseer in your pocket would be beneficial, due to your circumstances,” Martin said as their rail carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Abbey, moving his right hand so that it hid the back of his left. Corvo tensed again, and he had to stop himself from laughing.

Corvo’s eyes bored into the back of his skull as he exited the vehicle.It wasn’t like he was actually going to do anything. After all, the Outsider was a myth told by superstitious Overseers to frighten the less educated.


	23. the rope around your feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had figured out pretty quickly after he was allowed to live (because there was no way that Corvo couldn’t have killed him, even recovering from poison like he had been) that he was a bit of a softy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23: Regret
> 
> _(companion piece to Day/Chapter 11, so if some of it seems familiar, it is. And because Daud is too much fun to write when he's dealing with Corvo)_

It was the fourth time in two weeks that the Lord Protector was escaping from the Tower and running across the rooftops. He still had that ridiculous mask on, and his hand was on display for anyone to see. The faint glow let him follow with ease, even as Corvo thought he was being stealthy.

Daud wanted to hit him upside the head sometimes.

Not that he was doing badly... for a beginner. It was just that he could have been so much better. His feet hit the tile of the rooftops just a hair too loudly, and occasionally one of them clattered to the streets below. It didn’t happen often enough or close enough to one another for anyone to think it was anything more than an accident, but it was still sloppy.

Daud sighed, transversing to a rooftop behind Corvo. The bodyguard appeared to be surveying the estate in front of them. Daud cast a cursory glance at the courtyard, recognizing the travesty of a garden. Lord Wickham had hired the Whalers in the early days of the plague. He had wanted a romantic rival, of all things, taken care of, and had paid a significant amount of coin to see it happen.

He had scoped out the building after the contract had been accepted. It was all too easy for a client to forget to pay the ones who had gotten them what they wanted. Thankfully, Lord Wickham had been one of the smarter nobles he had worked for. The price had been paid, and Daud had been assured that he would have no reason to return to the man and his horrible gardeners. Unless the man found himself at the wrong side of his blade.

Idly, he wondered what the man had done to gain the attention of the Lord Protector. Obviously nothing that could warrant a visit during the daylight hours, which meant that someone was trying to get at the young Empress again. Or use her for their own benefits.

There was a pang of something that he refused to call regret in his chest. He had been paid to do a job and he had done it. There were hundreds of other orphaned children who would have cursed him if they knew his name. And yet...

The Empress had been different. He had spent months wondering what had made her different, only to come up with nothing. He had even tried to atone, finding Delilah and making sure that she wouldn’t harm the new Empress. Too little too late, but still the Lord Protector had spared him. Not that he was sure that Corvo knew about the witch. He had figured out pretty quickly after he was allowed to live (because there was no way that Corvo couldn’t have killed him, even recovering from poison like he had been) that he was a bit of a softy.

And it was going to get someone killed.

Her Majesty, in all her infinite childish wisdom, had yet to name a Royal Spymaster. Of course, the nobles had assumed that someone had been unofficially named to the position, and the young Empress was waiting for the perfect moment to reveal him or her. The truth, as Daud and his Whalers had found out, was that Corvo was working as both Lord Protector and Royal Spymaster. And while it had been hard to get into the Tower, once they had it had been easy to find out that the Lord Protector was getting less and less sleep as time went on. He was doing an admirable show of not showing it, but a man could only miss so much sleep before he slipped up.

Daud saw Corvo jump, his transversal bringing him closer to the open window of Lord Wickham’s estate. He also saw how Corvo was going to fall three feet short, and miss his destination. He swore under his breath and moved, transversing twice to bring him into grabbing distance of the Lord Protector. He wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist, letting his power pull both of them up to the roof, instead of the window Corvo had been aiming for.

He dumped Corvo on the roof and backed away, unsure of how the Lord Protector would take being rescued by him. Corvo knelt on the tile of the roof for longer than Daud would have allowed one of his Whalers. His lips curled in distaste, even as he tried to tell himself that it was unfair to hold the Lord Protector to the same standard as his assassins. After all, the man was getting less sleep than he needed. Not that it excused the behavior, just gave him a reason not to be judged as harshly.

Finally Corvo pushed himself to his feet. Daud stared into the blank glass eyes of the mask, not twitching when they adjusted. Corvo seemed unsure as what to do, if the hands that tensed at his sides meant anything.

“What are you doing here?”

True, Daud hadn’t been expecting thanks. But the biting sound that came from the mask, almost as if it was designed to strike fear into men’s hearts, still made him tense up. He played it off, wiping his hand over his face, lingering for a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose. His whole face, he knew from Billie and now Thomas, looked like he had just bitten a lemon.

“Take off that ridiculous mask,” he said, “and I might tell you.”

To his surprise, the Lord Protector did. Daud let out a breath when he saw the man’s face, and reminded himself that it would do no good to knock him out at present. But the vivid purple bruises under Corvo’s eyes made him want to. Only the fact that the Lord Protector had a reason for being out and at a noble’s house made him pause.

“Your transversal needs work,” he said.

A slight blush rose on Corvo’s cheeks, and Daud fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. It wasn’t something to be embarrassed about in his mind. The amount of Whalers who had almost ruined a job when they first started to use their powers was high, but most learned from their mistakes. Or they died.

“I misjudged the jump,” Corvo said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“And you almost ended up splattered across Lord Wickham’s shrubbery,” Daud said, looking over the edge of the roof. The bushes under them were an unhealthy orange color, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Might actually have been an improvement. His groundskeepers are horrendous.”

“I’m sure I could have survived,” Corvo replied. “And you haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”

Daud debated lying to him for exactly two seconds. “Because you’re an idiot,” he said instead.

“Of the two of us, I don’t think I deserve that title.”

Daud stopped himself from chuckling, knowing that this was the last thing that the Lord Protector would want to hear from him. The man had a point. Before he could say anything in retort, Corvo brushed past him, his mask already on. He dropped to the edge of the roof, slipping inside the house with a burglar's ease.

Daud followed him, this time for no reason but his own curiosity. As he entered he saw Corvo twist towards him, the sword in his hand twitching towards him. He had to give the man some respect; stopping a sword when it would have been easier to complete the motion took some skill. Corvo sighed through the mask, the sound like a death rattle, but didn’t say anything when Daud followed him.

He was obviously looking for something, if the letters he tucked into his jacket meant anything. Daud spied a few loose pieces of paper on the nightstand, and giving them a cursory look, picked them up. He tapped on Corvo’s shoulder, handing him the papers. Corvo gave him a short nod, and they left the bedroom.

Corvo must have had some power similar to his Void Gaze. The Lord Protector was too confident as they walked through the house, not even pausing to look around the corners as they made their way towards what Daud remembered was a study. Corvo went for the desk, which wasn’t a bad idea. Daud stood in the middle of the room, trying to see if anything had changed in the three years since he had been here. He took a step over to the wall, prying a painting off the wall.

“Over here,” he said softly. Corvo huffed and stood, obviously annoyed at the combination on the safe. “And if he’s like most nobles,” Daud continued, spinning the wheel latch, “he thinks he’s smarter than your average thief and doesn’t bother locking up after himself.”

There were a few things of note in the safe. A few small trinkets, which Daud pocketed, and stack of letters that he passed to Corvo. He grabbed a small ingot of copper that the man had left in the safe as well. If Wickham had the balls to report that he was robbed, it would do to make it look like the most important things were stolen. Corvo jerked his head towards the door, tucking the letters in with the others that he and Daud had found.

It was relatively easy to leave the manor. Corvo, thankfully, seemed to have learned from his fall from earlier, and made it to the roof on the opposite side of the street with no issue. Daud fell in beside him, crossing his arms as Corvo took off his mask again. The Lord Protector seemed to take him in for a moment, his eyes meeting Daud’s like they were equals.

“Thank you.”

The words struck him like a knife in the back. Corvo had no reason to be thanking him. Everything that had led to this point in both of their lives was his fault. If he hadn’t taken the contract on the Empress’ life...

“Think nothing of it,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Why would you?”

As if it wasn’t obvious. Daud had half a mind to just leave, but the fact that he clearly owed the Lord Protector made him keep his place.

“How much trouble do you think that girl of your would be in if you died? How soon before someone took advantage of her, or until she drowned in her grief from losing another parent?” Daud asked. “...al figure?” he added on, figuring it was better not to imply things that he had little proof for. After all, it wasn’t like the nobles had recognized the truth.

“If you’re talking about that misstep, I would have been fine,” Corvo said.

“And Lady Emile’s estate a month ago?” Daud said, letting his ire at Corvo’s attitude bleed out. “If you had misjudged that? No bushes to catch you there.”

“Have you been following me?”

Daud shrugged instead of letting his anger show. It wouldn’t do for the Lord Protector to draw a blade on him while they were having a conversation that needed to happen. “It took us a couple of times to figure out where you were going, but once we did, someone was always with you.”

“You and your assassins were following me.”

And Thomas had thought that they had been spotted. Daud wanted to either slap Corvo or throw him off the roof for his ignorance. Even with the wakeup call that had been the Empress’ assassination, the man seemed to believe that no one was going to harm Emily Kaldwin because she was a child. The seven requests that he had received spoke of a different type of world.

It was so nice that rats took care of any bodies that they were given.

“And Lady Emily, when she went out into the city with you,” he said. “It would be a shame for something to happen to her.”

Like the man with the crossbow when she had attended Market Day. He might have sworn off killing for money, but no one was going to harm the child Empress if he had anything to say about it. The man’s body had been tossed in the old Flooded District, where he would eventually be catalogued alongside the dead. If the rats didn’t get to him first.

“Is that a threat?”

Daud raised his hands, letting the Lord Protector see that he was unarmed. He paused, and thought better of it, lowering them slowly to his sides. It would have been easy to pull the sword that Corvo’s hand was resting on from his grip, but again, Daud didn’t want to escalate things. He sighed, knowing that Corvo was looking at him like he was an enemy again.

“Consider it repayment,” he said finally. “I’ve no want to see another Empress dead in my lifetime.”

“Unless someone paid you?”

The retort stung, but he had been expecting it. “I told you, I’ve lost the taste for it. But the skills my Whalers and I have are useful, and the guards you have are almost useless. You’re lucky no one’s been looking for a way to take advantage of that.”

Well, they had been, Daud thought to himself. But when a few key people saw what happened when the Whalers had been contacted, most had attempted to go to the other sources of assassination in the city. Most of whom were Whalers under some guise or another. Daud hadn’t wanted competition when he had set up in the city. Bad for business, after all.

“So, out of the goodness of your heart,” Corvo said sarcastically, “you’ve decided to guard the Empress and her Lord Protector.”

“It’s not like you couldn’t use the extra eyes,” Duad parried. “You’re running yourself ragged being the Lord Protector and Spymaster. It’s only a matter of time before you screw up.”

Corvo grinned, and Daud had a premonition that this was going to either end very well for him, or very badly. Perhaps a mixture of the two.

“Would those extra eyes be amenable to being paid?”

“What are you suggesting?” Daud asked, not completely following Corvo’s train of thought. As far as he knew, Corvo had no need of assassins. He could probably do the job passably well by himself if he really needed it done.

“The Realm is in need of a Royal Spymaster,” Corvo told him. “The position comes with an island with no flooded rooms, and a tidy sum each year. Enough for a contingent of spies and assassins to live off of.”

“You’re joking,” Daud said flatly, even as he considered it. The Financial District was going to be reclaimed sooner or later, which meant that he and his Whalers were going to have to move. Corvo was providing a nice alternative.

“A full pardon for past crimes even,” Corvo said. The words seemed a little forced, but they came out easily enough. Daud felt his respect for the man rise a little more. “Not that the exact crimes would be stated. We wouldn’t want the populace at your throat.”

“Only you get that pleasure, I assume?” Daud said, still turning the idea over in his head. It would be foolhardy to reject the idea, as it gave him exactly what he wanted.

“I’d make sure you stayed in line, yes.”

“And how are you going to get your girl to agree to it?” he asked.”She knows my face. She knows what I did.”

“She a forgiving girl, just like her mother.”

Daud winced slightly, but thankfully Corvo didn’t seem to notice. He seemed proud of his girl, his eyes going to the Tower rather than Daud.

“She may not like you, but she’d do what was right for the Empire.”

“And you? Could you work with the man who killed your Empress?”

“I’ve already spared your life, Daud.”

And he still had no idea why. Daud had tried to figure that particular problem out for days after Corvo had toppled yet another corrupt regency. There was no reason for him to be alive. Having him dead would actually serve the Empress better, allowing them to show the world who had actually killed her mother. But instead he was being conscripted to serve her instead.

“And you thought to save me from a fall,” Corvo continued. “I may not like you, but I can trust you.”

That, at least, was something that Daud could understand. He nodded his acceptance, then blinked in surprise when Corvo extended his hand to him. Daud shook it with his gloved hand, watching the Lord Protector warily. This would be the perfect time for him to pull something, after all.

Instead, Corvo grinned at him and vanished. Or, rather, transversed to a roof away from him. Daud swore, calling up his own powers to bring him closer to the escaping Lord Protector.

He had a feeling he was going to regret this, somehow.


	24. a reverie sealed with a kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man reached up with his hand, letting the Outsider see the brand on his flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24: Favorite Writer - [NeverwinterThistle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle)
> 
> _inspired by_ [If After Every Tempest Come Such Calms](http://archiveofourown.org/works/791464)
> 
> _(Corvo/Outsider)_

At first he hadn’t known what was breaking the monotony of the Void. He hadn’t cared much, content to let himself disperse amongst the currents of the ethereal plane. Occasionally he felt himself being called to one of the shrines, but none of the men or women who visited him were interesting. They had their moments, but none of them had the spark like Vera or the opportunity like Daud.

They were all so boring.

The Outsider was bored. It wasn’t an unusual feeling. Sometimes centuries would pass as he watched from the eddies and vortices that constituted parts of his world. But then a flash lit up the Void, bright as sunlight glancing off the waves, bright enough in the cold blue of the Void to blind even him.

He felt part of the Void tearing away from him, before the feeling vanished. Everything returned to as it should have been, even as though he knew something was different. The Outsider drew in the power of the Void, the magic as humanity would call it, and found that not all of it responded to him.

Well, that was interesting.

A thread, he found, went to the corporeal world. He followed the white line, and was surprised to find it attached to a woman, barely past what humanity would call middle age. He didn’t appear before her, but watched her carefully. She seemed frightened, shaking like a leaf as she sat in an alley, a hand clasped to her breast. Slowly, she drew it away, and the Outsider caught his first glimpse of her mark.

Unlike the brand that he gave his chosen, the concentric circles of the mark on this woman was almost completely hidden by the pallor of her skin. Only when she channeled power through it was he able to see the golden glow. It seemed to scare her for a moment, but then her face hardened. She picked up a discarded cap, tucking her red hair under it, and gestured towards the side of a building. The Outsider watched as she appeared on the edge of it and stumbled, crying out for a moment before she regained her balance.

A prickle on the back of his neck made him turn around, even though there was no one who could have seen him or snuck up on him. Nothing was there, except for dust glimmering in the sunlight. The Outsider frowned, reaching through the Void and touching them. Unlike most of the Void, which shaped itself to his will, this disobeyed him. It vanished of it’s own accord, but he couldn’t help but feel that someone was laughing at him.

He continued to watch the marked woman as she entered Dunwall Tower and took up a post as Lord Protector. The Empress, grown from a child to a young woman, had embraced her as a long lost friend and kept her in a close confidence. As months passed, the red haired woman did less and less to interest him.

The Empress was another story.

She snuck away in the middle of the night, and addressed the open air as her missing father. The Outsider frowned, knowing that there was something he was missing there. He knew who was missing, but a name and face eluded him. The Void surged around him as he tried to remember, only to come up against a wall of light that would not let it pass.

“That’s enough.”

The Outsider turned around, forgetting the corporeal world. A man with brown hair and eyes like the sun stared at him, the tiniest hint of a smirk on the edge of his mouth. The Outsider let the man step closer, his hand coming up to rest against a stubbled chin. The man reached up a hand, letting the Outsider see the brand on his flesh.

“I am yours,” Corvo said, taking the Outsider’s hand in his. “Until the Void swallows us both.”

The Outsider tilted his head, tracing a finger across the black lines on Corvo’s hand. **_“You could have died. I would have lost you.”_**

“You would have lost me eventually,” Corvo told him. “This way you didn’t have to.”

_**“Eternity is not always a gift.”** _

He knew the ritual that Corvo would have gone through; his head anointed with oils and words from a dead language spoken over him as he walked into the water, his clothes weighted down by stones. How the Void would wipe away the humanity that had tainted him to replace it with something else. Something more.

Hesitantly, Corvo bent forward and pressed his lips to the Outsider’s. For a moment, the Outsider debated turning away and denying him. But this man had given up everything for him, for the love that had come between them and made the Outsider turn away from his beloved in fear. Instead, he opened his mouth, meeting Corvo for the first time as an equal.


	25. song for the children unforgiven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She could affect a servant’s demeanor easily enough, letting her shoulders droop and ducking her head anytime someone looked at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25: Gang Wars - Whalers (because who doesn't love them?)
> 
> _(featuring Whaler!Cecelia, one of my favorite personal headcanons)_

She had been “that girl” for almost her entire life. Even now, in a gray jacket and mask, the other Whalers were likely to forget that she was there. Billie had complimented her on her ability to hide in the shadows, which meant that it was a good thing. At least, Cecelia hoped it was a good thing.

But now, she hid in the shadows as her instructor looked for her. It was a training exercise, but like most of the Whalers’ training exercises, it took place in the streets. One wrong move could bring the City Watch down on them, or the Abbey if some of the more gifted of the Whalers showed their talents. The gangs were more lenient, but even they were likely to attack if someone dropped out of the sky into their territories.

Right now she was in the Dead Eels territory. Their leader, Lizzie Stride, didn’t care what the Whalers did, as long as they didn’t get in her way. Which was why Cecelia felt safer hiding in a nook between two of their buildings. Not completely safe, like she had been with her mother in the Boyle’s Estate, but safer.

“Don’t know why we need to be here.”

The two men had been two stories below her for almost three hours. Neither, she had found out after a mere twenty minutes listening, cared for the other. The only reason that one of them hadn’t put a knife in the other’s back was the lashing that Lizzie was sure to give them. While she hadn’t met the woman, Cecelia wouldn’t have been surprised if the lashings were given with rope instead of a tongue.

“‘Cause Lizzie said so,” his compatriot said. The man hocked a loogie, letting it sail out of the alley and into foot traffic. A well dressed merchant glared at them for a moment, before recognizing the tattoos on their faces and necks. He scurried away, making both of the men laugh.

“Did ya see his face?” the taller of the two asked. “Looked like he pissed hisself.”

“Nah, choffer wouldn’t want to soil his pretty clothes,” the other said. “Betcha he goes and tells his folks that ‘e almost got hisself robbed.”

Cecelia smiled underneath her mask, trying to form the same pronunciations as the men. She hadn’t gained powers like Billie or Thomas, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t skills that she couldn’t learn. Hiding might have come naturally to her, but mimicry was something that she wanted to learn. She could affect a servant’s demeanor easily enough, letting her shoulders droop and ducking her head anytime someone looked at her. It had the added bonus of hiding her face, which meant that she was doubly forgettable.

The sound of displaced air made her turn around, her blade drawing easily from its sheath. The Whaler who had appeared behind her held up her hands, and Cecelia let the blade slide back into its home.

“You gave Marco a scare when he couldn’t find you,” Billie’s filtered voice said.

Cecelia shrugged, rising to her feet slowly. The joints in her knees popped as she straightened, and she bit back a wince at the pain.

“He couldn’t find me?” she asked, a hint of pride in her voice.

“He thought the Stride got you,” Billie said. “Luckily he came to me and not Daud.”

“Because Lizzie likes you better?”

“More like I’m actually able to find you if I need to,” she replied. “Nice set up you found here. Got a nice view of the street?”

“And the alley,” Cecelia agreed. She peered down, but neither of the men seemed to hear their conversation. Not that they could hear their low voices anyway. Billie followed her gaze, letting out a whistle when she saw the men below them.

“How long have they been there?”

“Three hours, give or take,” Cecelia answered. “Lizzie got word that something was going on, maybe.”

“No wonder Marco thought you got taken,” Billie said with a shake of her head. “I’ve had to dodge patrols all day. Wonder what’s got her in a tizzy.”

“There’s supposed to be a new shipment of river krust pearls somewhere in Draper’s Ward,” Cecelia said. “Maybe that’s it?”

“Why would you think that?”

“They were talking about it,” Cecelia told her, gesturing towards the men. “It’s not a big secret, I guess.”

“Krust pearls, huh?” Billie said thoughtfully. “Interesting. Anything else?”

“The Geezer’s not doing well. Not that they’re too sad about it.”

“And they never noticed you?” Billie asked. Cecelia shook her head. “That’s good. Daud will like the news.”

“So I passed?”

“As if it was in doubt,” Billie said with a chuckle. “And Daud said he has a target that he wouldn’t mind me taking a novice as a second.”

Cecelia smiled, even though Billie couldn’t see it under the mask. Her heartbeat ratcheted up a notch as she thought of the blade at her side slipping through an unknown man’s chest. She had practiced, like all novices, on rats and hounds that thought to come into their territory. It wouldn’t be the first time, but she had never killed for coin before. There was something different about it.

“That’s... good?” she ventured. Billie laughed, her hand coming down on Cecelia’s shoulder.

“Not for the guy we’re going for, but yeah.” Billie agreed. She paused, and reached up to take off her mask. “Are you good for it?” she asked, something like concern in her voice.

It was strange hearing something like that from anyone, never mind Billie. The Whalers clung to the idea that only the strong survived, which meant, since Cecelia had managed to survive as long as she had, she must be strong. Sometimes she doubted that. There were times when she cried in the middle of the night, curled up in her bed.

Some nights it was worse, like when some of Jenna’s teeth were knocked out by the City Watch when they had seen her skulking around. Those terrors had faded quickly. The nightmares where she saw Lord Boyle with a candlestick, the makeshift weapon coming down on her mother’s head, however, lingered. It could be days before she was able to get a full night’s rest, and it had happened more than two years ago.

She hadn’t meant to stab him. Or, rather, she hadn’t meant to stab him so much. The first had driven him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. She had gone to her mother, kneeling beside her, only to realize that she had been dead before she hit the ground. Lord Boyle had been crawling away at that point, calling weakly for help. It had been easy to walk over to him and pull the knife out, stabbing it in again and again and again until he stopped moving.

There had been blood on her face, she remembered, when she had looked up and seen Daud for the first time. Lady Boyle had hired him to kill Lord Boyle, she later found out. While he didn’t care about casualties, it had cost him nothing to let the two maids leave. He had looked at her like she was a wild animal, and not knowing what he was there for, she might as well have been one.

And he had made a different choice. Stretched out his hand and asked her to join him. Join the Whalers. Cecelia had accepted without a second thought. After all, there was nothing left in the Boyle house for her. He had smoothed everything over, claiming the kill. It hadn’t mattered to her, and the Whalers knew the truth.

“Yes,” she said, hating how her voice trembled. The concerned look on Billie’s face didn’t change. “I can do this,” she assured her.

Maybe. If she didn’t think about it. After all, the Whalers were the only family she had known since her mother’s death. Cecelia would do anything to keep them.


	26. a thorn in my religion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had only been a girl during the Morley Insurrection, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know when to avoid a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26: OC Appreciation Day
> 
> _(featuring my OC, Radha Conahan, a Morely woman in the Oracular Order. Until we're given a clear indication of who the High Oracle is, I've placed her in that position.)_

The sea air was calming. Somewhere below she could hear the fishmongers calling out their wares, just above the sound of waves crashing on the mountainside. It was peaceful. Not calm, because the world had never been calm. With the assassination of the Empress by her Lord Protector, chaos had sunk it’s teeth into the flesh of the world.

A few of the sisters had taken this as a sign that a great change was coming to the world. That the Outsider, in all his unholy glory, was waging a war to sway the less disciplined towards his witchcraft. Radha hadn’t said anything to oppose them, knowing that their visions could be true. It was the mark of a leader to listen to all of the people who came to her, no matter how absurd their claims may be.

It wouldn’t hurt, however, to encourage the Overseers to be more vigilant in their work. If this was the work of the Outsider, then it would be good for them to be prepared. If a witch escaped their clutches, it could spell disaster for the entire Empire. A few sermons on the charms that washed up along the shores, and the dangers that they posed to the spiritual welfare of the people would ensure that safety. At the very least, a few people would come forward with what they had found, hoping that the Overseers would dispose of the artifacts.

They would be watched, of course, but most ended up being nothing more than common folk who had stumbled upon darkness and wanted it cleansed from them. Their children would be accepted easily into the fold of the Abbey, perhaps even rising to become Overseers or Sisters of the Oracular Order. It was to the benefit of all, and would lead to a future uncorrupted by evil.

However, the more analytical of her sisters pointed to the assassination of Empress Larisa Olasker by political enemies. It wasn’t hard to draw out the similarities, with the troubles in Dunwall giving many of the late Empress’ enemies a reason to want her dead. The disappearance of Lady Emily meant that the current Lord Regent ran the Empire as he wanted. It hadn’t been lost on the Sisters that this was counter to what the Empress had wanted.

Radha sighed, picking at the edge of her habit. The gray fabric was lighter than what she had worn in Morley, something that she was quite thankful for. Serkonos was almost the complete opposite, and the thick wool of the habit would have been annoying. It would have also marked her out as different from all the other Sisters, and the ones she travelled with had changed alongside her. It made it easier for them to blend in with the Sisters of this chapel, and to show that the High Oracle was no different than her sisters.

She let out a breath of annoyance, still contemplating the problem that lay in front of her. As much as the evidence pointed to the Lord Regent being embroiled in the Empress’ assassination, there was no proof that she could offer. And her counterpoint, Campbell, had made absolutely clear that he believed the Regent’s story. His dismissal of her enquiry had enflamed some of her travelling companions, but calmer heads had prevailed.

Radha had ignored his request to travel to Dunwall to aid in spiritual matters, tossing the letter into the water. The tone of the letter had been almost commanding, which wasn’t how he was to address her. Serkonos had been an excellent choice instead. Here, there were no plots, no men seeking to grab power wherever they could get it. And there was little chance that she would be killed in an attempt for Campbell to get someone with his approval in the position of High Oracle.

She had only been a girl during the Morley Insurrection, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know when to avoid a trap.

“Sister Radha?”

Radha turned around, smiling at the Abigail, one of her closest travelling companions. When she had heard of the slight that Campbell had directed towards her leader, she had tried to command the ship captain to head for Dunwall, blockade or no blockade. The man had looked amused when they had handed her a mace and told her to work her anger out instead. By the time her head had cooled, the captain had been looking at Abigail with something more akin to fear.

“Yes, Sister Abigail?”

Abigail rolled her eyes at the formal response, but took a seat on the bench next to her. Her hands fidgeted around a letter, which she handed off when Radha held a hand out for it.

“News from our brothers?” she asked. Radha nodded, her eyes skimming the paper. A part of her wanted to laugh as she read about the fate of her counterpart.

“High Overseer Campbell has been branded a heretic,” she told her. Abigail gasped, and Radha looked up at her. The surprise on her features was not what she had been expecting, but Abigail quickly got herself under control.

“The Heretic’s Brand?” Abigail clarified.

“Yes,” she said. “Whatever his crime, I for one am glad his influence is gone from the Abbey.”

“But this means that we need to begin a search for a replacement-”

“The Overseers have already put forth a candidate,” Radha said, skimming the rest of the letter.

Her heart skipped a beat when she read Teague’s name. It had been almost twenty-five years since she had seen him last, and over five since she had last written him. He had made mention of being conscripted into the Overseers, and she hadn’t bothered to pry in her response. Since her rising to High Oracle, she had never been sure of how to contact him. It was too much of a risk that her identity, a closely guarded secret of the Order, could be revealed by a careless word.

“Teague Martin,” she said, keeping her voice level. Abigail raised an eyebrow at the name.

“A Morley man?” Abigail said with a chuckle.

“And what’s wrong with Morley?” Radha teased her.

Abigail smirked. “Their pigheadedness, I suppose,” she parried. “It’s just interesting that both Orders are to be led by someone from Morley. If you grant your approval, that is.”

“And I will,” Radha said, standing. Abigail followed her as she walked out of the sea cliff garden.

“Truly? Without consulting the others?”

“I have a feeling,” she replied. “And I think everything will play out better if Teague Martin is the High Overseer.”

“If you say so,” Abigail said with a shrug.

“Then I must write at once,” Radha said. “It would not do for me to slight the new High Overseer by not congratulating him on his position.”

Writing a letter to him would be easier, now that they were on equal footing, after all.


	27. a deadly serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time she got the blade at his throat, but stopped short when she heard the sound of a crossbow being cocked right beside her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27: Rule 63 
> 
>  
> 
> _(Fem!Corvo)_

The river krust bile had eaten through her thin shirt to skin by the time Daud knelt in defeat. He had been surprised when her sword had been sheathed, and even more so when the “man” he had feared collapsed in front of him. She hadn’t known if he would take the chance to kill her, even though he had just sworn off doing so moments before. It was a bit of a surprise when he yanked off her jacket, but the pain was at such a level that she couldn’t find it in her to care.

Corvina wasn’t sure what happened next, only that no light was filtering through the window beside the bed she had been placed in. She could see a few stars through the smoke, making it clear that the evening had passed her by. Placing her hands on the bed, Corvina tried to push herself up, only to fall back onto the cot a few inches up. The noise, although as silent as she could make it, made the lump that she had taken for a pile of sheets move. The Whaler who had, she assumed, been watching over her, stood up and came to stand by her bedside.

“Be careful,” the filtered voice said. “You’ve got some serious burns from krust bile on your ribs.”

“I know,” Corvina bit out. “I was there when they happened.”

“You’re lucky Daud’s a good friend of Lizzie’s,” the Whaler said, ignoring her sarcasm. “She got him some salve that her people use for the burns. Stops the sting and helps heal it faster than just downing Elixir.”

“Just help me get up,” she said. “I’ll leave, and we can just add this to the debt that Daud owes me.”

“Belay that order, Jenna,” Daud said, leaning on the doorframe. Corvina turned and glared at him, which he returned with a raised eyebrow.

“I thought you were leaving?” Corvina said.

“And leave you to die, bodyguard?” he replied. “You may have won our duel by a hair, but collapsing afterwards doesn’t make that seem like much of a feat.”

“I was recovering from being poisoned,” Corvina said. “Burned by krust bile when I went to get my gear, which you so kindly tossed in the bottom of a factory crawling with Weepers, and then you decided to fight me. And I still kicked your ass. You can’t have been much of a fighter then, could you?”

Through her speech she levered herself onto her elbows, even as the Whaler, Jenna, made aborted movements to lay her back down. Something like respect crossed Daud’s face, only to be replaced with anger as she chewed him out. He waved a hand at Jenna, who looked between them before vanishing into a cloud of ash. Daud pulled over a chair and sat in it, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You should lie back down,” he told her after a minute.

Corvina glared at him. Ignoring the pain on her abdomen, she made herself sit up. She rested against the iron bars of the headboard, panting from the exertion. Looking down at herself for the first time, she noticed the new shirt she had been dressed in. It was thicker than the one she normally wore under her jacket, but it did well enough to hide her breasts, small as they were. Corvina pulled up the edge of the shirt, noting the bandages that were wound around her.

“Why?”

Daud didn’t seem surprised by her question. “You needed help.”

“And we were trying to kill each other a few hours ago,” Corvina replied.

“Two days,” Daud corrected her. Some surprise must have shown on her face, and he rubbed a hand over his brow. “You had three broken ribs, that burn from the krust bile, and a cut from my blade. You looked like shit once we got that mask off of you. My Whalers didn’t want you going off half cocked to get your little Empress back.”

“She’s alive?” Corvina said, lurching forward. The sudden movement made her abdomen flare, but it was worth it to see Daud nod.

“The new Lord Regent’s keeping her at Kingsparrow Island,” he said. “Safe behind the walls and guards. Apparently, _Corvo_ Attano has designs to kill her like her father.”

“Are you mad that you were deceived?” she asked. “No one knows about this.”

“Not even the late Emperor?” Daud shot back. “You must have cared for him a great deal to even care for the noblewoman he got pregnant-”

Something on her face must have given something away, and he stopped mid-sentence. Corvina had felt her body tense when he had begun the accusation, and her hands fisted in the blanket as realization dawned on his face. He opened his mouth, but before he could get any words out, she threw herself towards him.

Daud reacted on instinct, his hands coming up grab her. Corvina twisted, hitting him in the gut and toppling him and the chair backwards. Fumbling at his belt, she grabbed at the hilt of his blade. Sensing what she was going to do, or perhaps expecting it, his hands shoved at her shoulders as he tried to shove her off of him.

It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, her hand gripping the blade tightly enough when he threw her to draw it. Hitting the cold stone of the floor made all her aches and pains skyrocket, but she pushed herself up, again throwing herself at him. This time she got the blade at his throat, but stopped short when she heard the sound of a crossbow being cocked right beside her ear. She and Daud looked at one another, each knowing that they could kill the other easily.

“No one knows,” Corvina told him, her voice barely above a whisper. “No one could ever know.”

“She’s your daughter.”

“She’s my charge,” she said. “I would give my life to see her safe. Justinian knew that when he commanded me to find her before he died.”

Daud lowered his arm and crossbow at the mention of the later Emperor. Corvina held his blade to his throat for a moment longer, then pulled back. She slid off of him, the pain from her exertions making her gasp slightly now that her adrenaline was gone. Daud’s eyes seemed to track her, surprise like when she had originally spared him on his face.

“Why?” he asked after a moment.

Corvina snorted. “It wouldn’t gain me anything to kill you.”

“Except that I know-”

“Nothing?” she said with a small smile. “All you have is a baseless accusation. And Parliament believed Justinian when he said Emily’s mother died in childbirth. For all intents and purposes, she is an orphan.”

“She has to know,” Daud argued. “Children see more-”

“She believed that her father loved his Lord Protector,” Corvina said. “I’m sure some of the nobles thought the same. It protected all of us that I was thought to be a man. I posed no threat to the succession, especially after Emily was born.”

Daud shook his head, obviously confused by her logic. She wasn’t surprised. When Justinian had learned of her pregnancy, he had tried to convince her to come forward as his consort, to give her a legitimacy as the mother of his heir. She had pointed out the problems that could arise if that was to happen, including the fact that Parliament could declare their child illegitimate based on her common birth, not to mention the lies she had told about her gender.

The construction of the fake noblewoman was their compromise. She would be sent away to “guard” the mother of his heir, allowing for her to finish the pregnancy in secret. The noblewoman would die in childbirth, but her child would survive, thereby sidestepping any need for Justinian to marry anyone. It had worked splendidly, and Emily had been declared the legitimate heir one week after her birth, after news of her mother’s “death” had been announced.

“Nobles only make sense when they’re trying to kill each other,” he finally said. Corvina chuckled, not even caring that it made her chest hurt.

“Thank you.”

Daud sat up and eyed her as she said it. She didn’t look at him directly, instead casting her eyes over the blade in her hands. It was well kept, and looked like it had been freshly oiled. Corvina flipped in her hand, letting the blade rest against the outside of her arm. It was slightly heavier than the folding blade Piero had given her, but she attributed that to the copper inlaid in the handle. It was a distinctive blade, she thought, her stomach turning over.

“I have a few Whalers looking for ways into Kingsparrow Island,” he told her, ignoring her gratitude. In a way, she was thankful for it.

“I have somewhere else I have to go first,” she said. “There might be something there that could help me.”

“Can it wait another day?” he asked, gesturing to her ribs.

“No,” she said with a grimace. “I can’t let anything else happen to Emily. I’ve failed her enough as it is.”

Daud nodded, seeming to accept her logic. He stood and offered her a hand, which she took. After pulling her to her feet, he gestured to one of the other cots, where a bundle of clothes sat. Walking over, she realized it was her jacket and the tools she had gained when she joined the Loyalists. Her mask sat off to the side, staring morbidly at her. Bending as little as possible, Corvina managed to get into her clothes. She patted herself down, making sure that her otherwise feminine figure had been disguised.

“You’re going to your death.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Corvina replied. “At least this time I’ll choose it.”

He sighed, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He looked at her, then the mask in her hand. Another sigh, and he pointed to an empty space of air. A Whaler appeared, bowing slightly to him before standing at attention.

“Prepare a squad,” Daud said. The Whaler nodded, then tilted his head towards her in some form of silent communication. “Four others beside yourself. Be ready in thirty minutes.”

“Understood.”

When the Whaler vanished, Corvina raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“I’m making sure that your little girl doesn’t end up an orphan,” he told her.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Then call it repayment,” Daud snarled. “There’s some Elixir and Remedy in the cabinets behind you. Take as much as you need. We’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready.” He turned around, going to leave the room, when he paused. “What’s your name?”

She knew what he meant. “Corvina.”

“You weren’t very original.”

“It was similar enough that I didn’t forget who people were speaking to,” she replied. He nodded in understanding.

“Whenever you’re ready to leave, we’ll be waiting,” he said, vanishing in ash.

Corvina smiled thinly, snapping the mask onto her head and pulling up her hood. She was more than ready to save her daughter.


	28. as time goes by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It also had the unfortunate side effect of tearing a hole in the boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 28: Dynamic Duo
> 
> _(Light Corvo/Daud)_

“This is your fault, bodyguard.”

Corvo rolled his eyes, knowing that the other man couldn’t see him do so. The ropes securing them back to back made sure of that. The ropes that tied his arms to his sides were more of an annoyance, however, than the assassin at his back. At least he could trust the rope to not kill him.

Then again, they were drifting down a river towards the Flooded District, so it was possible that the ropes were trying to kill him as well. In which case, he had two things to worry about. Actually, three things. Corvo let his head tilt backwards, leaning it against Daud’s. The other man grunted and tried to move away, but Corvo followed him whichever way he went. It was a useful distraction, keeping his thoughts away from the water and the slapping noise it made as it sloshed against the boat.

Damn it.

He sighed, twisting his wrists slightly in their prisons. If he was alone, he probably could have left immediately, blasting away the bonds with wind and Blinking up the side of a house. But he had no idea what would happen if he tried to do that while attached to another person. Even if Daud was a jackass, Corvo didn’t want to see him dead.

Well, that was a lie.

“How are you so sure of that?” Corvo asked. “I obviously didn’t tie us together in the boat.”

“I didn’t mean how we got here,” Daud said. “I know how that happened.”

“So you know who could sneak into the Tower and kidnap me?”

“A few people,” Daud said, a thread of sarcasm entering his voice. “Myself being one of them. And my second.”

“And I thought we had fixed the security breaches,” Corvo muttered under his breath. He was already reconfiguring the exits and entrances, when another thought came into his head. “Are you using the vents?”

“You’ve sealed those off fairly well,” Daud replied. “And I don’t give away trade secrets.”

“So you possess a rat and come in through one of the smaller vents,” Corvo said. “Well, that’s going to be annoying to fix.”

“Wait, what?”

The confusion in Daud’s voice made him want to try and turn around and see the man’s face. The only thing that stopped him was the rope burns that would surely result from such a thing. As it was he was going to have to be careful with what clothes he wore when he got back to the Tower. He didn’t need Callista, or, Outsider forbid, Emily asking why his wrists were bruised. Callista would do it with a saucy wink, her fear of him having vanished once she saw him interacting with Emily. And Emily... no matter how long she had been kept at a brothel, he had no desire to try and discuss adult things with her.

“Possess a rat,” Corvo said with a slight shrug. He winced when it made the ropes burn against his arms, and made a note not to do it again.

“You can possess animals?”

“And people, for a short time,” he said. “It’s how I got through your base of operations, for the most part.”

“You thought that I could do that?” Daud asked, his voice incredulous.

“Umm, yes?” Corvo replied. Some water splashed inside the boat, and Corvo had to bite his lip to stop his body from trying to give into biological imperative. “You were marked by the Outsider too.”

“It’s not... It doesn’t work like that,” Daud said, exasperation entering his tone. “The Mark is different for everyone. There was a Marked witch who could take control of people through painting them. That sounds similar to what you have.”

“That’s disturbing,” Corvo said.

“You just said you possess people, and you find a woman who controls people by painting them more disturbing,” Daud said flatly.

“Well, I have to be in eyesight of the person,” Corvo defended himself. “And it doesn’t work for a long time. Unless hers was for a short time period?”

“No.”

The deadliness that encapsulated that word made Corvo pause. He thought about asking, but thought better of it, letting his mind wander with his eyes. The houses were becoming more dilapidated as they went downriver, which meant that they had to be close to the Flooded District. Corvo could have sworn he had seen some survivors, men and women who were probably in the early stages of infection, staring at them as they passed. None had looked like they would have been willing to help them, not that Corvo could blame them. He was dressed in trousers; Daud seemed to be dressed a little better, but there was no doubt that they made an odd pair.

“So, any plans on how to get out of this?” he asked, for lack of a better option of conversation. Their last one hadn’t gone well, and he had little trust that this one would end any better.

“I’ve been trying to saw at the rope with a crossbow bolt since you woke up,” Daud said.

“And it hasn’t snapped yet?” Corvo said, surprised. “Maybe it’s old?”

“It’s not old,” Daud said. “It worked plenty fine when I used it last.”

“Then maybe it’s the handler?” Corvo asked. “I can imagine that it’s hard to get up.”

“You’re only a few years younger than me,” Daud retorted. “If I’m having trouble, perhaps you’d like a go?”

Corvo froze, his mind going to places it shouldn’t. A chuckle rose in his chest, and he was sure that Daud could feel the shaking of his shoulders.

“Very mature,” he growled.

“I didn’t start it,” Corvo said. The crack of Daud’s head against his own made his head ache, but he kept a grin on his face.

“Outsider’s eyes you didn’t,” Daud grumbled. Corvo heard something clink against the bottom of their little rowboat. His suspicions were confirmed when Daud swore under his breath.

“You dropped it, didn’t you?”

“Bodyguard, I swear I’ll wring your neck-”

“I can get us out of here,” Corvo interrupted his threat. Daud dropped into silence, obviously waiting to hear the plan. “But it could kill you.”

“If I have to sit in this boat with you any longer, I’ll kill myself,” Daud said. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I can blast wind and hope that it breaks the ropes.” Corvo told him.

“Your flatulence can break ropes.”

The dry, almost annoyed sound of Daud’s voice, would have been funny if Corvo wasn’t offended. Rather than responding, he channelled mana into his Mark, calling forth a blast of wind. Corvo heard Daud give a muffled curse, but the exact words were lost to the wind. The ropes snapped, finally releasing them from their restraints.

It also had the unfortunate side effect of tearing a hole in the boat.

Corvo swore when the dirty river water soaked into the bottoms of his trousers. Eyeing a nearby roof, he Blinked. He looked down at the boat to see if Daud had died, only to see the man vanish. Relatively sure of his privacy, he pissed off the edge of the building. Letting out a satisfied groan, he shook twice and adjusted himself in his trousers.

A cough behind him made him turn around. Daud stood behind him, obviously having watched him just do his business. A slight blush seemed to be present on his neck, but it was vanishing quickly under Corvo’s gaze. Daud shook his head slightly, apparently deciding not to question what Corvo had just been doing, for which he was grateful.

“You could have done that from the beginning,” he said instead.

Corvo shrugged. “I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t kill you.”

This time he saw Daud roll his eyes. Corvo huffed, and looked down at his feet. Whoever had grabbed him hadn’t bothered to put anything on his feet. It meant that he would be confined to the roofs as he made his way back to the Tower, which would be annoying. Not impossible, by any stretch of means, just difficult.

“Well, this was fun,” Corvo said.

“Wouldn’t be the word I’d use,” Daud said. He seemed to do a double take, finally seeing what Corvo was wearing. “What are you wearing?”

“I was asleep,” Corvo said.

“Ah,” Daud said, his eyes skimming down Corvo’s torso before meeting his again. Corvo raised an eyebrow, and did the same to him. Unfortunately, the assassin wasn’t giving as good of a show. He was dressed in a similar outfit to the one Corvo had last seen him in. In fact, Corvo was pretty sure it was the same outfit. A line of black thread down one of the sleeves was in the exact same spot as where he had sliced Daud in their duel.

“So...” Corvo said, the silence between them getting a little awkward. Daud shifted on his feet, looking away from Corvo to the rooftops around them. “You said earlier that your Whalers could get into the Tower? Did they do this?”

“Thomas probably thought it would be funny,” Daud answered. “It’s not your concern. I’ll deal with it when I get back.”

“Don’t kill him over it,” Corvo said, his face twisting into a grimace. Daud looked at him strangely.

“You think I’d kill my second?” he asked. “After all the time I spent training him? I’ll just put him on dish duty or make him babysit the novices.”

“Oh,” Corvo said, surprised. He shifted his stance, letting it fall more open. Daud watched him with interest, and Corvo felt a blush creep up his chest.

“It’s a slap on the wrist and he’ll know it,” Daud said. “Can you get back to the Tower as you are?”

“I’ll get there,” Corvo assured him. “Hopefully without anyone seeing these extra marks.” When Daud’s eyes flickered to the bruises beginning to form, Corvo knew he was right.

“Well, be careful bodyguard.”

“Corvo,” he said. Daud narrowed his eyes, but nodded in acceptance.

“Corvo,” he repeated.

Corvo grinned as he heard his name on the other man’s lips. Calling on his mana, he Blinked into Daud’s personal space, his lips brushing lightly over the other man’s. Before Daud could do anything, he sighted another rooftop and traversed away.

* * *

Daud stood frozen on the rooftop, not entirely sure what had happened. Truthfully, when Corvo had entered his personal space, he had expected a blade in the gut. Where the Lord Protector may have been hiding it, he didn’t know, but he had anticipated it.

And instead he had kissed him, and left.

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that. On one hand, he was pleasantly surprised. On the other, he was a little disarmed. He should have reacted like Corvo was an enemy, disabling him or pushing him away. Instead, he had done nothing, and let the other man kiss him.

It had been nice. A little short for his tastes, but it got a point across.

“So, that worked out better than expected.”

Daud raised an eyebrow at his second in command. Thomas, for his part, didn’t look cowed, standing at loose attention.

“Most people would lie about their involvement,” he told him.

“And other people would have told you to get your shit together weeks ago and talk to him,” Thomas replied. “One sword fight and you barely talked to one another.”

“Corvo is not to be trifled with again,” Daud told him. “And you’re in charge of the novices for the next three months.”

Thomas gave him a smart salute before vanishing in a cloud of ash. Before he left, Daud could have sworn he heard him say, “Worth it.”

Daud raised a gloved hand to his lips, his fingers barely touching them. A grin crossed his face, and he called mana to his hand. Unlike many of the others he had made over the years, this one wasn’t marred by blood or death.

He would have to look into the old plans for Dunwall Tower. The old basements should allow him a way in to _visit_ the Lord Protector.


	29. simple man of simple words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having known him for many years, Samuel could hear the confusion in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29: Secrets
> 
> _(Marked!Samuel)_

**_“You always were interesting, Samuel.”_ **

Samuel lit up a cigar, puffing it to make sure that it stayed lit. The Wrenhaven River had been calm since he had chugged away from the Hound Pits Pub with Corvo’s barely breathing body. The Lord Protector had been tossed into a rowboat of his own, and Samuel had guided it to one of the locks that led to the Flooded District.

“Don’t really take your meaning there,” he told the Outsider.

The young looking deity sat down on the edge of the boat, his feet dipping into the water. An inky looking darkness spread outward from them, even as the night sky took on a blue hue. Samuel snorted, putting the cigar between his teeth and biting down lightly to keep it there.

**_“Daud is in the Flooded District, a man whom Corvo despises for the murder of the Empress.”_** the Outsider said. **_“But you knew that.”_**

Samuel shrugged instead of answering. The world had completely vanished into the Void, and he couldn’t help but draw a little comfort from the endless blue. It was like being in the middle of the ocean, with what little land you could see far enough away that it didn’t seem real. He leaned back in his seat, taking the cigar from his mouth and blowing a ring of smoke.

“They would have met eventually,” Samuel said. “Daud won’t kill him.”

**_“So sure, to bet a man’s life on an assassin’s kindness.”_ **

Samuel chuckled. “I didn’t say that he was going to be kind to Corvo. He’s just less likely to kill him outright.”

The Outsider stood, walking on the empty air of the Void like there was a cobblestone street beneath his feet. **_“Daud has already killed another one of my Marked. He and Corvo meeting could prove disastrous to Lady Emily’s life.”_**

“Worried about the girl, are you?” Samuel said in surprise.

**_“Hardly,”_** the Outsider replied. ** _“But depending on what Corvo chooses, she could end up being interesting.”_**

“The girl’s had enough trouble in her life,” Samuel said, a warning tone creeping into his voice.

**_“It is the least likely outcome,”_** the Outsider said with a small shrug. **_“For all that Corvo has surprised me, I find it unlikely that he can manage it.”_**

“You’d be surprised,” Samuel said. “My folk think he’s good people.”

**_“He has helped the forgotten, even when it bore no obvious help to him,”_** the Outsider said.

Having known him for many years, Samuel could hear the confusion in his voice. Even after all these years, he still didn’t understand what choices drove men and women to do extraordinary things. And those who did, who reached past what was thought to be impossible, were endlessly fascinating to him.

“He won’t kill him like Daud killed Delilah,” Samuel said. The Outsider turned his black eyes on him. If Samuel hadn’t known the deity for more than forty years, he would have been cowed by the look. As it was, he recognized it as asking him asking for more information. “It’s big news, at least to people who know,” he said. “Two big players going after one another? There wasn’t any other way it was going to end.”

**_“Then you think Daud is doomed.”_ **

“Corvo doesn’t kill people,” Samuel replied. “Not unless there’s no other option, anyway. It’s why you liked him in the first place, isn’t it? When he left Coldridge like that?” The Outsider said nothing, but Samuel nodded as if he had agreed. “He intrigued you because he wasn’t like Delilah or Daud.”

**_“I...”_ ** the Outsider paused, his usually ineffable demeanor cracking. ** _“He never does what any other man would do in his situation. Daud used my Mark to build a business in the blood of others. Delilah fell into greed, always wanting more power, which Daud used to his advantage when he neutralized her. But Corvo... wants nothing.”_**

“Oh, he wants a great many things,” Samuel disagreed. “But none of them are for his benefit.”

The Outsider looked like he wanted to ask more, when his eyes snapped away from Samuel’s. His arms crossed, and the look of confusion crossed his face again. Whatever he was seeing was obviously intriguing, but it wasn’t like Samuel could see it.

**_“You were right.”_ **

Samuel shrugged a shoulder, not wanting to gloat. “A soldier knows his men,” he said.

**_“There are only two outcomes left,”_ ** the Outsider said, a small frown creasing his face. **_“I cannot see what happens past either.”_**

“You never did like it when you couldn’t predict someone,” Samuel said with a chuckle. “Must of been why you chose Daud after me.”

**_“Daud was... is,”_** the Outsider corrected himself, **_“interesting. You never lost my attention.”_**

Samuel nodded, rubbing the back of his right hand with his left. He could feel the Mark burning, even under his gloves. If he took them off, he might have even been able to see it glowing gold. Instead, he left them on, like he had ever since he had stepped foot on dry land again.

**_“Thank you,”_** the Outsider said, after what might have been an eternity or just a few minutes. **_“For helping me understand.”_**

Before Samuel could reply, he found himself and his boat sitting in the river. This time sans any supernatural visitors. A red rocket was finishing its streak across the sky, and Samuel let a small smile cross his face. Corvo had made it back, alive, then. And he was simply Samuel the boatman, the one who would take him where he was meant to be.


	30. caught between the chapters of a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smirking behind his mask, he took off at a run, jumping between two houses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 30: Fugue Feast
> 
> (12 days late, mostly cause I couldn't think of what to write for it)

A few of the people looked at him strangely as he made his way through the city streets. A few nobles had hurried to get out of the way, their masks wobbling and their hands clutching their chests. Word had gotten out after the Boyle party, the last one that Lady Boyle had been seen at, about a man wearing a mask like death itself, who had vanished as soon as he had even appeared.

Corvo smirked behind the mask, knowing that even as the Fugue Feast went on, people could still be forced into a superstitious panic. A part of him was thankful that Burrows had confiscated the register for the party, hiding the name he had cheekily signed in the book. No one, outside of a select few that were either in Coldridge or sworn to silence, knew that he was the Masked Felon who had tormented two Lord Regents and secured Empress Emily’s ascension to her rightful throne.

He hadn’t really planned on coming out for the Fugue Feast. While Emily was theoretically safe behind the walls of the Tower, trusted men and women looking after her, he worried for her. Murders had occurred during Fugue Feasts before, after all. Not that he thought anyone would be stupid enough to try something. The Rat Plague had only just been cured, and the young Empress was the darling of the people’s hearts. The mere thought of a threat would have been reported to him, and he would have been at her side through the nights when the Abbey turned a blind eye to debauchery.

Callista had insisted, however. Practically tossed him off the roof of the Tower, in fact, telling him that he needed a few nights of revelry. Arguing, he had learned, was pointless, especially when Emily had gotten word of her plans. Having the two of them insist he go out was more than he could argue with. Callista had attempted to take care of his dressing needs, but Corvo had told her that everything was already taken care of.

It was strange, walking through the city streets when he would much rather have been on the tile roofs. Pausing for a moment and casting his eyes upwards, Corvo channelled a bit of mana into the Mark on his hand. Most of the revelers wouldn’t even notice that a man had disappeared from the crowd. Those that did would put it off as a side effect of any numerous things that they had consumed that evening.

It was cooler on the rooftops, which was what he needed. Smirking behind his mask, he took off at a run, jumping between two houses. He tumbled on the next rooftop, but caught his feet easily. The slip he used to his advantage, sliding down the side of the house and jumping off and blinking to the other side of the street. He scrambled up the tile, before taking off on the flat beams of the roof.

Corvo crossed most of the city in that manner. Occasionally he threw in a few flips between houses, and using his Blink to the outward reaches of his ability. He reveled in the chance to use his powers without worrying about anyone figuring out who he was. After all, this was the Fugue Feast. Nothing truly happened in these days outside the calendar.


	31. this world to wither with a smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was the way it was done, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 31: The Final Day
> 
> _(there wasn't actually a prompt for today, as it was supposed to be a day to tweet our thanks to the developers. This is what I did instead.)_

He could feel the end coming.

The people of the Isles had to have known, what with the rising waters that swallowed entire districts into their depths. Men, women, and children drowned in their beds, the waters taking them before they had even a chance to panic. Bodies, those lucky enough to be seen, floated in the water, poisoning it as they decomposed. The fish feasted well enough these days, even as humanity starved.

The last of his chosen was waiting on the highest part of the island. She was his harbinger of the end times, making things interesting as the world ended. Some had flocked to her years previously, hoping that she would profess some way of saving a dying world. She had laughed in their faces, even when they tied her to a stake. Her eyes met his as they struck the match, her sharp smile matching his.

They both knew that she could escape if she wanted to. She could rip away the bonds that held her fast while fire raged under her feet, and dash away before the common people realized that she was gone. But that would defeat the purpose of what was being done. So she laughed and smiled as the smoke wove its way into her lungs and fire sparked along the ends of her hair.

This was the way it was done, after all.

It took hours for the flames to wind down, and after it all only ash remained of the pyre. Not that the people cared. The waters had risen while they had watched his chosen burn, and now lapped at the base of the funeral pyre. The Outsider smiled in grim satisfaction as he watched the last of them drown, hands sinking below the water.

He looked over the horizon, noticing how small it was becoming. Soon, he knew, the Void would swallow him as it was the world. Until then, he was content to look out over the waters, and to witness what was happening. He did not even look to the side as someone else appeared next to him. The Void seemed to hiss like steaming water as she came to stand next to him, her arms folded over her chest.

“Is this how you came to be?” she asked.

**_“Similarly, but not the same,”_** he answered honestly. It would cost him nothing to tell her the truth now, at the end of all days.

“And you knew that it would happen to me. That I would become this.”

**_“It was a possibility,”_** he said, ignoring the anger in her voice. _ **“The next world will need someone to watch over it. To be the one who watches all things.”**_

“You’ve sentenced me to an eternity of boredom.”

_**“That depends on you,”**_ he told her. **_“I had my chosen, the ones who bore my Mark.”_**

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her look at her hand, where his Mark had once been inscribed. It had vanished, much like he had expected. Equals, after all, were never to be in service to one another.

“I thought I was going to die.”

**_“As did I,”_** he said. **_“And you might, someday. When you realize that the time is right, and the Void chooses another. As it did me when the old gods of this world departed.”_**

The horizon was now no bigger than a country estate. The Outsider could feel the Void tugging on the outer edges of his perception, urging him to submit himself to it. He stepped forward, turning around to face her properly for the first time. Her sun-white eyes tracked him, the edges of her pupil like sunspots, barely visible. The shadows that had embraced him after he had sunk under the waves were opposed by the flames that licked at her skin and hair. She was his opposite in every way.

Perhaps that was what this new world needed, instead of the darkness and despair that he had embodied.

“I bestow a name upon you,” he said, his words losing the power that he had held for millennia. “You are not a part of this new world. You will stand apart from it, watching as the people move in their own ways. You are the Outsider, the watcher of the world.”

The Void tugged at him, and he surrendered willingly to its oblivion. In the seconds between his destruction and the birth of the new world, he heard the new deity speak for the first time.

**“I am the Outsider.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks!
> 
> (And, fyi, the woman's name in this chapter was totally Andraste before she was the new Outsider. Because I couldn't help myself, but there was no way to put it in the chapter itself.)
> 
> I'll probably have the next chapter of Hireath, my Dragon Age/Dishonored fic, up next. After that, I'll probably post my Dishonored 2 speculation fic (parts of which I originally wrote for this Feast, but I'm going to fix some issues to make it flow better, as well as add more in-depth stuff if I can).
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this journey. I know I did!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] here's to the fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691720) by [Kess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kess/pseuds/Kess)




End file.
